


Absinthe

by atenebrae



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol, Blindness, Case Fic, Delirium, Fluff and Angst, Ghosts, Hallucinations, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Season/Series 12, Soulmates, Spells & Enchantments, True Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-12
Updated: 2017-04-12
Packaged: 2018-10-18 01:17:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 21,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10606299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atenebrae/pseuds/atenebrae
Summary: (It all begins with a bottle of bright alcohol.)After almost losing Claire and devoured by worry, Dean decides to take Cas with him on a case, which seems to be the easiest they have faced yet: after passing by an abandoned bar and seeing a mysterious green light, a man becomes suddenly ill and dies overnight, with no explanation. After some research showing several other persons who died the same way for more than two centuries, Dean concludes they're dealing with a vengeful spirit.Except it's not, and Dean and Cas are cursed themselves, and Sam and Mary, helped by Rowena, are thrown into a desperate course after time to save them. A cure exist, but it requires one, simple thing: true love. Sam is left helpless, capable of summoning demons and angels, but completely powerless when it comes to his brother and his friend's feelings.(And sometimes, the person you love is not the one everyone expects you to...)





	1. Out Of Light

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is my new story that has been in all my daydreams recently and that I needed to get rid of!  
> No special warnings, just angst and improbable situations as always! Also, just to be clear, this story is set after 12x16 but can be seen after 12x17 too, if you ignore what happened to Mick (which I'm not doing.....at all....)
> 
> I hope you'll enjoy, and don't hesitate sharing your thoughts! <3

 

*

_So much for all that, it is not worth the poison_

_Contained in your eyes, your green eyes,_

_They are lakes where my soul shivers and sees itself overturned._

_My dreams crowd in_

_To quench these bitter gulfs_

 

\- **The Poison** by Charles Baudelaire

 

*

 

 

The engine stops roaring, beast defeated into the night. The inside of the car is immediately filled with thick blackness.

Dean, hands still on the hot, comforting wheel, leans forward to take a look at the abandoned bar facing him. Though the wood on the facade seems gray and faded, and the windows are shattered, glass spilled on the ground outside, the place doesn’t feel like it had been left behind.

There’s a vibrant feeling about it, as if someone – or something – was still living behind those walls, as if the alcohol was still flowing like a great river.

Dean shakes a little on his seat, suddenly cold and hungry and _tired_. He turns to look at Castiel, the angel very still next to him.

Dean notices an uneasy sensation bubbling in his stomach. Sam’s absence just feels so _odd_. Because there is now no shield between him and Cas, no exterior gaze to keep his eyes from lingering a little too long.

 

After he almost lost Claire, his heart raced without ever slowing down on the way home. As soon as he reached the bunker, he called Cas, just to hear his voice and be sure he was alright. Though he recognizes himself in Claire’s bad temper and stubborn mind, every spark of her makes him think of Cas, and his absence weighed down a bit heavier than usual.

He flinched at the hurt in Cas’ voice as he heard of Claire’s near death, and the bitterness in his words as he regretted not being there, and Dean’s heart jumped as he thought, _then why can’t you just stay here with us?_ Though the _us_ was more of a _me_ than he could admit.

As he tried to keep the conversation flowing, fearing Castiel would suddenly say goodbye and hang up and fly into thin air God knows where, Sam entered the room and told him Mick had found two other cases that seemed pretty urgent.

Dean jumped on the occasion and asked Castiel if he wanted to come with him, as Sam was doing the same with Mary. His breath got stuck in his lungs as less than one second pass before Cas accepted.

(It was like Dean learned to breathe again.)

Sam and he drove to a dinner that was decided to be their meeting point with both Mary and Cas. The two of them got out of their cars and it felt like he had not seen the angel in years – centuries even.

Cas was standing a few steps behind Mary, waiting for the brothers to greet her with a small smile, quite tender but also discreetly tainted of ache as he saw Sam’s face illuminating when he saw his mother.

Dean frowned and as he saw Mary’s face turning expectantly to him, it became all blurry and suddenly his chest felt hollow as if something was missing inside of him.

Castiel had lowered his head, waiting for the family to reunite together and so his eyes snapped open wide when Dean’s arms crushed him into a sudden embrace. His angelic breathing stopped and his mind went all blank as he felt the hunter’s hands gripping his coat on his back.

Dean’s own eyes were shut tight, inhibited by that strange cold feeling that snapped back and forth in his head as he realized it’s been weeks since he last felt Cas’ presence beside him.

“Dean” he heard Cas said, both as some kind of question, and as some weak whisper, and it felt like the angel’s fingertips were diving deeper in his sides.

Dean did noticed Sam and Mary’s surprised look at him when he stepped back, and felt the heat rising to his face as he realized how that sudden, desperate rush must have looked from the outside.

He nodded as his mother and before the moment could get any heavier, he walked quickly back to the Impala and waited for Castiel in the warm car, cursing himself in his mind.

 

They didn’t even cross the borders of their sweet Kansas, but Dean feels more exhausted than ever, as if all his strength has been sipped up by some evil spirit.

But what makes him so tired is that he doesn’t know how to act. With Sam, it’s simple, their bound is rough and strong, and Dean can be himself – or at least a part of himself – without fearing the consequences.

But with Cas, it’s different, and he feels like he has to watch his every moves and words, and even with all this precaution he regrets most of the things he does in his presence.

It makes him _cold_. Very cold inside, and yet all his muscles feel hot and soft and he feels like melting into the soft leather of the Impala.

He thinks of that sudden need of holding Cas tight against him when he saw him on the morning. It was as if something had slipped out of his conscience and led him right to him, as if he was someone else for a minute, no longer self-conscious of his actions.

 

He shakes his head and takes a short breath, before he looks at Cas, who studies the bar from behind the windshield. When he feels Dean’s eyes on him, he turns his head and the hunter can’t help but notice the dark purple circles under his blue irises, stronger than ever.

“You OK?” he asks, words coming out of nowhere, and he regrets the worry piercing in his voice, and he regrets how he says no more.

Castiel seems to think for a second and that’s enough to make Dean frown, before he speaks. “Yes” Cas simply says, and his mouth has a small, bitter twitch. He then seems to soften a little. “Are you?” he asks, his voice honey sweet.

Dean is caught off-guard and opens and closes his mouth several times before he can shape an answer. “Yeah. I mean-” he begins, feeling very small and unsure under the angelic stare. “I guess” he finally admits, lowering his eyes that land on the reassuring circle of the wheel.

There’s a soft sigh next to him, and he clenches his teeth of frustration.

These small talks aren’t what he wants, he hates them more than anything, but it’s like he cannot find anything better. Like he becomes this clumsy, frightened creature that cannot make one sentence without stuttering.

“We- we should have a look inside, right?” he says, his eyes fluttering back on Cas.

The angel nods and a second later they are outside, the wind blowing strong and chilly on their faces. Dean shivers and has a dark look to the sky, before he turns to the bar, which name has been erased by rain and time.

 

Just like he saw from the car, the walls of wood are rough and used, and the place seems empty. But there’s a sensation creeping in his bones and he can’t ignore it. As he looks around, the corner of his eye captures some kind of green glow but as he focuses back on the inside of the bar, he sees nothing but dusty blackness.

Pushed by his instinct, he walks around the Impala, opens the trunk and grabs a blade and a gun, as well with two flashlights, just in case the place isn’t as empty as it seems.

He then walks to the door until his fingers brush against the cold handle. He gives Cas a look and the angel nods, dark and silent beside him. Dean sips a breath in and enters the bar.

 

The air inside is thick of dust and cold like a graveyard. Dean feels a shiver running up his spine as he gives Cas one of the lights (his fingers brush against the back of Cas’ hand and there’s a faint cry behind his ribs) and turns his own on.

The glacial beam of light illuminates the space in front of him, before this imperturbable eye sweeps across the room.

Dean’s muscles are clenched, ready to wrestle against whatever is nesting in the dark, but as his light pierces the blackness around, he encounters nothing but the heavy silence around him.

He gives Cas a questioning look and the angel answers with the same silent incomprehension.

Dean frowns. As much as he hated to admit it, the British’s sources were always sure and the job would always get done to be on time for dinner. That’s why this absence of beast or ghost or anything lurking in the shadow is confusing him so much.

 

From what Mick told him, there were solid bases for a real case. A week ago, a woman in tears called the police to report her husband’s death. He had been curiously sick since he got back from work and his state worsened rapidly with each hour that passed. She urged him to go to the hospital but he refused, telling her that he was just a little tired.

Near midnight, he woke his wife and begged her to hold him in her arms. She was even more unsettled by his behavior when he started blurting incomprehensible words about an abandoned bar and a green light inside of it. She reassured him and made him go back to sleep, kept telling him it was just a nightmare and he simply needed some rest.

When she woke up the next morning, he was lying cold and lifeless next to her, milky eyes staring at the ceiling.

 

It was enough strangeness to make Dean hit the road, but now that he is here, he feels like it’s a dead end. He walks deeper into the place, the floor cracking under his feet. Spiderwebs are hanging from the ceiling, dust covering the counter in a thick, gray layer, and broken bottles are scattered everywhere, pieces of green glass shining in Dean’s eye.

Castiel walks close to him, looking around and squinting at the dark corners the light can’t brighten, as if his own brilliant eyes could pierce the thickness of the night. His frown grows deeper as his head turns from one side of the room to the other, as if he was sensing something but couldn’t quite explain it.

 

After researching for a while, Dean had found several stories similar to the one the widow told the police a few days ago, except some of them were over two centuries old.

He had immediately concluded with some kind of vengeful spirit, even if the whole vision of a green light left him puzzled. Children laughing, women weeping or men screaming, that was what he could call normal.

But just a light?

And more confusing, the ghost only seemed to attack _hours_ after the person passed by the bar. It was possible it was strong enough to travel but why would it do that?

When Dean tried to search for a connection between the victims, he found none. Some were women, other men. Some were in their twenties, other in their sixties. The only thing Dean had notice in the death certificates is that the victims were always romantically connected to a person, either married or living with someone.

Otherwise, there were few clues to begin with.

 

“See anything?” he asks Cas, who is still looking around, frowning.

“No,” he answers, and a light breeze blows on his hair from the broken windows, giving him a wild, divine appearance as he turns to Dean, “but I do sense a presence.”

“Yeah” Dean says, turning around, somehow hoping he will find something waiting for him with claws and rage. “But then why isn’t it showing?”

“I don’t know.” Castiel answers and he walks to stand next to him, a bit closer than usual, and Dean has a little hope that the angel missed his company as much as he did. “Maybe we’re not the kind of people it attacks?” he asks, his eyes diving into Dean’s, shining even in their somber surroundings.

“There isn’t one. It can attack anyone.” Dean answers before he turns around, slightly annoyed that he drove all this way for nothing.

 

That’s when his eyes met a vivid color among the darkness around.

 

On the counter, there’s a bottle with alcohol a green bright like the grass in summer, like mint leaves or like flickering neon lights on a motel. In the shadows the liquid seems fluorescent, the moonlight piercing by the ripped curtains making it glimmer in an eerie way.

Though Dean is almost sure it wasn’t there when he entered, he makes a few steps to the counter and puts his gun down to grab the bottle. It’s ice cold to the touch.

“Absinthe” he reads on it, the name faded on the label. He turns the bottle in his hands, somehow mesmerized by the odd color changing when the light pierces through, shades of green from bright and electric to deep and somber. The bottle is still closed, as if it was brand new, but the layer of dust on it proves the contrary.

He turns to Castiel, grinning. “Hey, tonight’s free drinks night!” he says, gesturing at the angel with the bottle.

Castiel frowns. “Dean” he says with that serious, low voice that means he’s currently judging him.

“What?” Dean asks as he leans to grab two small glasses, left intact despite the chaos around.

Castiel joins him near the counter, his eyes sounding the bottle as if he could find the ghost bottled in it. “I don’t think that’s very wise to drink in a haunted bar.” He squints at the alcohol as it emits some sort of wistful moan when Dean opens it. “Besides, didn’t the victims see a green light before they die?”

Dean scoffs. “Well, one: ghosts can’t possess booze.” He pours the green ethereal alcohol into the glasses. “Two: booze doesn’t glow.” He has a wide smile and hands Cas one of them. “And three: I never refuse booze.”

“Dean” Cas repeats again in that nearly desperate kind of voice, “I don’t think it’s safe” he says.

“Don’t worry, it’s not gonna kill me.” Dean answers, a dark emotion quickly flashing in his eyes. “And if he does, well-” He shrugs dramatically.

Castiel frowns, makes a step closer, his very dark and very cold eyes sounding Dean. “That’s not funny” he says, his stare clouded by worry and anger.

Dean gulps down the quieter he can and tries a thin smile as he hands Cas the glass once again. “Please? And then we’re gone, I promise.”

Castiel stares at him for a few seconds before he sighs and gives up, grabbing the drink in his hand, the green liquid creating waves of light on his skin.

“What are we drinking to?” he asks, his voice soft and coarse.

Dean raises his glass. “You and me hunting invisible ghosts?”

( _You and me._ )(Together.)

To Dean’s greatest surprise, Cas’ mouth breaks into a smile, a genuine smile of amusement. His heart flutters wild in his chest.

“Alright then,” the angel says, raising his own glass full of odd and bright alcohol, “To us.”

( _Us_.)(Together, in the same room, but never quite in the same world.)

The two glasses collide with a little crystal clear sound and they both empty them in one mouthful, the magical looking alcohol flowing down their throat in a fresh, surprising taste.

 

Dean slams his glass on the counter, containing a wince. “Strong” he manages to say, his mouth completely numb of any other sensation. He gives Cas a look and the angel’s face is twisted the same way as his.

“Strange.” Castiel says, blinking a few times as he raises his glass to look at the empty space in it.

“What?” Dean asks, rubbing his temples, a headache blooming out of nowhere in his brain, as if he just ate something awfully cold.

“I can taste it.” Castiel says, slightly frowning. When he raises his eyes to Dean it looks like they’re a bit glassy, a bit lost as if the alcohol really did have an effect on him.

“Well I wish I could _un_ taste it” Dean answers with another wince. He grabs his gun and light, and turns to Cas again. “We can go now. We have to talk to the wife tomorrow morning.”

Cas nods and as he walks past Dean, this one grabs his arm to stop him. The angel stops and considers the touch, holding his breath.

“Sorry.” Dean says as he gives him an apologetic look. “It’s already kicking” he adds.

Castiel stares at him for a second, confused. Then he sees his blurry eyes and the way he blinks too many times, as if he had to put them back into focus each time, as well with his dazed expression.

“Oh” Cas says and his features soften to the point Dean can’t feel his heart anymore. (He blames it on the alcohol.) “Don’t worry, I’ll drive” the angel adds.

Dean gives him a smile, so gentle it almost looks alien on his face as he lets Cas lead him outside, still grabbing a handful of tan coat in his fist.

 

(He doesn’t see the green smoke rising like a poisonous breath from the bottle.)

 

x

 

Dean yawns, barely focused on the road ahead. The sky is already getting dark, and all he wants is to reach the bunker and collapse on his bed.

The day went by so fast he didn’t even see each hours flow around him.

He had decided to check on the bar first, since the location of the possible spirit was already known, but it apparently led to nothing, and he regrets not sticking to his usual method: talking to the family _then_ go hunting.

The next morning, they spoke to the wife and didn’t get anything, or at least anything useful, from her. The husband had no enemies, he was not acting strange the days before. The EMF meter didn’t show its alarming red lights, and they didn’t find any sulfur or hex bags either.

But they surprisingly managed to get the job done. A little tour to the archives and they found a woman who worked at the bar killed herself in it, explaining why it was now haunted.

Why she would kill those persons, or why they saw green light and slowly became ill afterward, Dean didn’t know, but there were no other leads, and after they found and burned her bones, he decided they were done.

 

Now he drives, the radio pulsing softly in the car and at the some point he even hears Cas humming next to him. Weird for sure, but he’s too tired to even care.

The events of the evening before are a little blurry in his head. All he remembers is that Castiel helped him getting into bed as best as he could.

 

He had woke up as daylight peeked through the thin flowery curtains and then had the worst headache he ever experienced.

He had winced and swung his legs out of the covers, ready to get up when he had noticed Cas was there, on the other bed. Not that it had bothered him in any way that he had spent the night in the same room. He had actually been soothed to see him so close.

What made him frown was that Cas had been clearly _asleep_.

He had visibly not planned to sleep, and so was curled up on top of the blankets, laying on his side, his face half hidden in the soft pillow.

Dean had blinked, confused, but there was no doubt: he could hear Cas’ slow breathing and see the way his eyelids fluttered from time to time, as well with how his features were all relaxed, away from the constant worry and faded hurt painted in his gaze.

Dean had thought for a moment, staring at the angel and considering the situation for longer than he would admit. He had stood up and walked slowly to the other bed, trying to be gentle as he shook Cas’ shoulder to wake him up.

Cas’ eyes had open very slowly like a cat’s. Blue had slipped from between his eyelashes and he had stared at Dean for a moment, as if he couldn’t quite understand he was now awake – or rather that he was once asleep.

 

Now that Dean thinks of it, Cas had been acting strange all day, but well, that was just Cas being Cas.

(Right?)

 

Dean lets out a sigh when he recognizes the road leading to the bunker. He is finally home and he already feels the soft sensation of the mattress underneath his body.

“Dean?” Castiel suddenly says, making Dean turn to him, and his vision becomes a little bit more blurry.

“Hm?”

“I know I haven’t been here a lot lately and-” he stops mid-sentence and seems to think for a few seconds, his lips pressed tight together. “I just wanted to say I’m sorry” he finally says, turning his eyes to Dean.

This one frowns. “Hey, it’s OK. I know you’ve been busy.” He tries a smile. “With all your angel stuff to find Lucifer’s baby and all?”

Castiel doesn’t answer, just nods slightly. Dean’s smile lingers a little but his mouth suddenly becomes dry and he wishes he could say something without making it uncomfortable.

Before he can say anything, Castiel speaks again. “I really did enjoy spending time with you” he says in one go, his eyes now avoiding Dean’s.

The hunter’s breath is caught in his throat and his tongue goes slack and numb. As he approaches the bunker, he tries to find an answer. “Yeah, it was... nice. We’re a good team I guess?” he says, hiding the thunderous beatings of his heart behind a relaxed facade.

But Castiel doesn’t look at him, there’s something cold swirling around him. “I know you’d rather hunt with Sam….or Mary, but I’m glad you asked _me_.”

 

Dean’s eyes darken. He parks the car inside the bunker and gets out of it, before he turns back to Castiel. “Cas, you do know I like being with you too, right?”

The angel doesn’t answer, even turns back and starts walking into the bunker without waiting for Dean.

The hunter groans and makes a few large steps to catch up with him. He grabs his arm and forces him to turn around. For shorter than a second he thinks he sees small threads of green electricity moving in Cas’ eyes, but they are gone before he can even start to think they were once real.

“I’m serious, Cas.” He frowns at him. “What’s going on?” he asks, his grip tightening on Castiel’s coat.

“Nothing.” Cas answers in a whisper. When he hears Dean’s exasperated sigh, he closes his eyes for a second and then takes a deep breath. “It’s just that I feel like-”

“Dean?” Sam suddenly shouts from another room, cutting the flow of Cas’ words.

Dean sighs and glowers at the source of Sam’s voice. He turns to Cas again, the angel back into numb silence. “We’re not done with this, OK?” he says before he walks to the bunker’s main room, still dragging Cas with him by the sleeve.

 

Sam and Mary are waiting for them. Dean gives Cas another worried dark look before he turns his attention to his brother and mother, his hand falling back on his side, palm cold and empty.

“So how did your case go?” he asks, his muscles sore and aching.

“Turned out it was just a vampire who recently turned. He was just young and lost, and had some control issues and no one to guide him.” Sam says, his eyes fluttering from Dean to Castiel and back and forth again.

“Mr Ketch said he was going to take care of him from there.” Mary says with a few steps to her elder son, her smile somehow more reassuring than genuinely kind.

Dean frowns. “But did you try to talk to the kid first?” he asks, his eyes considerably darkening.

“Yes, we did.” Mary said, walking closer once again. “Don’t worry, Dean, he’s not going to kill again.”

“I’m not worried about that.” Dean snaps and his mother freezes where she stands. “Your British buddies aren’t the best kind when it comes to innocent people that turned against their will.” He narrows his eyes at her. “He’s probably going to kill him, if that’s not already done.”

“Dean” Cas suddenly says in an urging voice, his hand tugging at Dean’s sleeve in a weak grasp.

Dean is turning to him when Mary talks again, making his attention snap back to her. “Well, they gave us their help and our hunt worked out, when yours didn’t.”

“I’m sorry?” Dean asks, his voice becoming a bit deeper and trembling of anger in his throat.

“Well, there was just another victim” Sam gently says, frowning, “Didn’t Mick called you?”

“What?” Dean asks, now confused. “But we burned her bones-” he says, before there’s a sudden ache going off in his head and he stops, the pain like a sting in his skull.

“Dean are you OK?” Sam asks, walking to him.

“I’m fine.” Dean answers sharply, all his synapses burning, his mind racing to the speed of light. It feels like there’s fire rushing in his head. “If you’re so disappointed of the way I work, then you should have just come!”

Sam glances at his mother who gives him the same puzzled look. “Dean, that’s not what we said-”

“Then what are you saying?!” he now shouts, and the ache spreads from his head to his belly and softens to become a swollen, honey thick sensation dripping lazily inside of him. It doesn’t make him feel better, it makes him feel heavy, and _slow_.

Before either Sam or Mary can speak again, Cas calls Dean’s name again, and this time it’s a faint cry by his side. Dean turns into a swift move.

 

To face electric _green_ eyes.

 

Dean’s anger seems to crumble in one second and he stops breathing, his mouth half open. He has lost all his balance in those neon eyes. They look so huge and sick, devouring a face they don’t belong to.

“Cas-” he starts to say before another wave of poison rushes through him, this time blinding and electric, like a bolt of lightning struck right through him.

And into his mind, the color green, more vivid than ever, as if all his cells became tainted of the same nauseous veil. One second his vision is perfectly normal, and the other it’s all covered of this second layer of reality where everything is green, so bright and _green_.

He swallows the sickness back and slowly turns to Cas, breathing rapid and distraught.

The angel speaks for him, small curls of green snapping in his eyes. “I think we’ve been touched by the spirit” he says in one breath, diving his mad stare into Dean’s startled soul.

 

And before the hunter can think, Cas’ eyes roll backwards and his legs give up underneath his body, and he falls like a dead weight into Dean’s arms.

Dean barely has the time to give a desperate look to Sam and Mary, before the world spins around him and he falls into sour, whispering darkness.

 

(Even the darkness is green. So very green.)

 

x

 

“… death”

 

It’s the last word of Rowena’s sentence, but the first Dean hears when he wakes from the honey thick slumber he had fallen into. He blinks several times, trying to make the space around him clear, as he slowly realizes where he is.

“Well, the princess has finally awaken!” Rowena exclaims with a hint of mockery in her voice.

Dean groans and blinks, and the second after Sam has knelt next to him. “Hey, how do you feel?” his brother asks, worry creating a dark frown between his brows.

“Like crap” Dean answers, and he tries to move, but all his body feels heavy and sore. He raises his eyes back to Sam. “What happened?”

“From what Samuel told me,” Rowena begins with a smirk when Sam glowers at her “you two did faint quite tragically into each other’s arms.” She gives Dean a smile. “I must admit I like your sense of style. Very star-crossed lovers, no?”

Dean rolls his eyes and turns to Sam. “Did you really have to call her?”

Sam gives him an apologetic look. “Sorry. I didn’t know what else to do. And we didn’t know what cast that spell on you.”

“And you know now?” Dean asks, hopeful.

Sam’s eyes suddenly darken as if he just remembered something, as if a brutal truth has just came tumbling down on his mind. “Yes” he says in a small breath without any further explanation.

Dean raises an eyebrow “And?”

“We’re possibly going to die” Castiel suddenly says next to him.

“ _Surely_ ” Rowena corrects him, making Sam clench his jaw.

Dean ignores them and turns to the source of Cas’ voice. His heart misses a bit when his eyes cross bright green ones. Or rather blue ones hidden under a thick veil of poison, small threads of electricity running through them, the spell pulsing in them as if liquor had been poured in all his irises.

“Cas” he murmurs, as if seeing him for the first time.

The angel gives him a miserable look as he tries to sit straighter, his back against the smooth wall. Sweat is covering is skin, giving him a sick glow that doesn’t mean anything good.

Dean blinks, unable to think. He looks at Sam. “But how?”

“Castiel told us about the liquor you found in an abandoned bar, after a man mysteriously died after passing by said bar.” Rowena says, her accent sharp and singing in Dean’s aching skull. “Do you remember that?”

“Hell I do” he answers, wincing at the stinging pain in his head, spreading from his temples to his jaw, tightening his throat and the bridges of his nose.

Rowena opens a large, dusty book that was on the table in front of her. “It did make me think of some old tale I heard, years ago” She stops to give Dean a pitiful look, and he’s struck by the near honesty of it. “You may want to get comfortable for the rest.”

 

Dean frowns but doesn’t answer, letting Sam and Mary – who stood silent since he woke up – help him to get up. He holds onto their arms for a few seconds, until he found all his balance back, before he turns to help Castiel doing the same.

If the angel gets up in one swift motion, he almost falls against Dean as he stands on his two feet, his expression lost and slightly distorted by pain.

Dean’s eyes are only covered by more shadows, and suddenly he feels it deep inside his belly – this cold, swollen feeling that whispers with its raspy voice. As he clutches Cas’ arm to lead him to a chair, he feels this mighty desire to hold him close against his chest, so tight he might just fuse with him.

(Not that it never happened before, but never so strong. Never so desperate.)

 

He shakes his head and once Cas is sitting, he does the same, his eyes soon turning to cross Rowena’s, who is staring at him expectantly.

“Can I begin now?” she asks, falsely exasperated.

Dean doesn’t answer, just glares at her as the winter in his stomach is raging a bit more violently and he has to keep himself from turning to check on Castiel, when he’s close he can hear his heavy breathing.

“Thank you” Rowena says, sitting beside him, pushing a long strand of bright hair behind her shoulder before starting. “As I said, this story about a green light and an abandoned bar did ring a bell. I told Samuel, who brought me this book of all the Men of Letters’ encounters with supernatural creatures.” She pauses and Dean notices a bit of… fear? In her eyes, as if she had found something big, even for a witch like her. “And then I found it.”

“What is it?” Dean asks, the pain like an angry animal gnawing at his guts.

Rowena slowly pushes the book towards him. A sharp fingernail points at a small piece of writing and a quick, blurry sketch of a feminine figure surrounded by green smokes.

“ _La Fée Verte_ ” Rowena says, and seeing Dean’s confused look, she has a little sigh. “Means ‘The Green Fairy’ in French” She shakes her head, incredulous. “Did you learn nothing at school?”

Dean shoots a dark look at her. “Can’t you just go on?”

Rowena seems about to snap a sarcastic answer back, but she purses her lips together and focuses back on the old book. “There isn’t much about her, she’s quite mysterious.” As she speaks, Dean looks at the small text next to the illustration. It’s sure very short compared to the Men of Letters’ collection. “A few centuries ago, there was a woman called Joséphine Delange. She was a waitress at her father’s bar, and they were famous for their absinthe in the whole country. It was so stunning it had the reputation to be the product of magic.”

It matches the name they found in the archives. Dean’s heart starts beating a bit faster, as the pieces of the puzzle click into place. He nods and Rowena draws a breath in to continue.

“She had a lover – no one remembers his name – and they were planning to get married and open their own place in the countryside. It was told that they were the most beautiful couple ever seen, and that they loved each other to the point most people envied their bliss.”

“Let me guess, some lady in town got all jealous and made a deal to kill the boyfriend. Am I close?” Dean says, grinning of pride.

Rowena gives him a dry look. “As far from the truth as one can be” she answers and Dean’s smile fades into a pout. “Now will you let me finish?”

“Yeah, right” Dean mutters, crossing his arms on his chest like an angry child.

“So, it was true that Joséphine was deeply in love with her lover, but it was only one-sided.” Rowena says and Dean frowns. The story is surely going to a place he didn’t think of at first. “One night, when she finished her work at the bar, she went outside, and she did find him there, quite alive and well.” She makes a dramatic pause. “Kissing another woman.”

“Oh, well.” Dean says. “Awkward.”

“Yes, for a lack of better words” Rowena says. “But Joséphine was not angry, or sad. She was _devastated_.” She takes a small breath. “The same night, she hung herself in her father’s bar where she spent so much time with her lover, planning their future.”

There’s a moment of silence. Then, “But what’s the connection with your green fairy thing?” Dean asks, confused. Next to him, Castiel stirs and his shoulder ends up pressed against Dean’s. The cold feeling swells.

“I don’t know the whole story. But it is said that she turned into something after her death.”

“A ghost?” Dean suggests, as the answer sounds the more obvious.

“Not quite.” Rowena answers, her fingers caressing the illustration in the book. “She became some kind of very powerful spirit haunting one kind of alcohol: absinthe. She’s capable of cursing anyone who drinks it and-” She stops, her eyes going from Dean to Cas “Her power was surely even greater since you drink at the very place of her whole life, and death.”

“Alright, so we’ve been cursed” Dean says, rubbing his temples again, cold settling in his head, thrumming in his ears. “So there must be a cure, right? Or it’s just gonna pass with some time?”

 

Rowena’s mouth turns into a thin line. “This is where it becomes unpleasant” she says, turning to Sam and Mary, who are both silent, their eyes fixed strong on anything but Dean.

“What?” Dean asks in a raspy voice. The world is spinning again around him, in a slow way that reminds him of those time-lapse videos he stumbled upon while watching TV. One element – Rowena’s almost sorry eyes – stays clear, while the rest is blurry and moving so fast he can’t quite understand what’s happening.

“The spell has two phases.” She takes a deep breath in. “During the first one, you become delirious. You see or hear things that are not really here. You don’t control your body or thoughts as well as usual. You lose all your bearings.”

“Sounds nice” Dean says, feeling the headache growing louder. “What about the phase two?”

Once again, there’s a moment of silence where Dean could almost hear the birds chirping outside, the wind blowing in the trees around the bunker.

He looks at Rowena, the Sam and Mary. “What? It’s _that_ bad?”

Instead of Rowena’s bright and joyful voice, it’s Castiel’s low and sorrowful one that answers him. “You slowly stops being alive. You become cold and vulnerable, and the spell makes your suffering as unbearable as possible.” He stops, his voice husky, his eyes – these damn green eyes that just aren’t _his_ – lost into space. “Your body just weakens slowly until-”

He stops, and Dean is hung at his words. “Until what?” he asks, knowing deep in his lungs the answer about to shape in Cas’ mouth.

The angel raises his haunted eyes and dive them into his, shivering feverishly.

 

“Until you die.”

x

 

“We can’t let them here” Sam says, worry ripping through his words. “What if we come back too late?”

“You called me to save your brother and his angel, is that right?” Rowena says, exasperation clear and revolting in her eyes.

“No- yes!” Sam exclaims, passing a hand in his hair, as he turns to his mother for some help.

Mary has a little sigh. “Is your source really sure?”

Rowena turns to her, her chin held high like a queen. “Yes. As I said, I do not know the whole story, but she’s the one who told me about it. Meaning she possibly know it in its entirety.” She turns to Sam again. “Now, will you come with me and possibly save your brother, or will you sit here like a child and let him die?”

Sam swallows loudly, and his head turns slowly to Dean. This one has stood up and is facing Castiel, who is sitting on the edge of the table. Both of them seem very weak, their skin pale and drenched in sweat. Even from where he is, Sam can see the frown dug in Dean’s forehead as he seems to blink more than usual, his arms wrapped around his belly as if to protect himself.

When he feels Sam’s stare on him he turns back, and even though Dean’s eyes have always been green, he’s struck by the way the spell is making them so odd, so inhuman. Of course the change is not as unsettling as in Cas’ ones, but he can still say there’s something wrong in the eyes he saw since birth.

Sam sighs and turns back to Rowena. “Alright but promise me we’ll be quick.”

“Do you really think I want to spend my whole day finding a cure to your brother’s liquor issues?”

Sam shudders from the inside. “How can you be so cold about it?” he says, shaking his head, incredulous. “We’re talking about Dean and Cas’ lives here!”

“I know.” Rowena says, picking up her coat from the chair she draped it over. “But I also know the Winchesters always find a way to escape what cannot be.” She turns to Sam, her eyes old and very dark. “This is why I do not worry about them.”

She then turns around and starts walking away without waiting for them, her heels clicking on the smooth floor.

Sam lets out a heavy sigh, suddenly feeling exhausted. He turns to his mother and suddenly wishes he could just crumble into her arms and drown in soft blackness. But something stops him, something in the way she stands, strong and unbreakable, something in her eyes, something that is more animal than mother.

 

On the other side of the room, Dean takes a small breath in. “I’m sorry” he exhales and the room flashes green again, spinning like a rapid, mad carousel.

Castiel doesn’t even raise his head, his body hunched, not very angel-like. The cold feeling is shaking in him too. “For what?” he asks in a raspy voice.

Dean feels like there’s an iron ball in his throat. “If I didn’t push you to drink...”

Finally, electric green eyes are raised to cross his. “Dean, it’s not your fault. You didn’t know it was cursed.”

(But I do curse everything I touch, no?)

Dean clenches his jaw. “If you-” He stops, the sickness moving dangerously in his stomach, warm and sharp like a devil. “If you...die, it’ll be because of me”

“I won’t” Castiel says, pushing himself from the table to stand in front of Dean. This simple move seems to cost him all his strength and he winces, sore to the bone. “Besides, I’m not the one who matters. In the end, if only one of us can be saved, it’s you.”

Dean frowns of incomprehension. “What?” he blurts, and Castiel’s eyes appear so honest and true and raw, the green flares in them snapping with emotion.

“You have your family. And-” Cas stops, looking at the ground, thinking of what to say, before he looks back at Dean. “They can’t loose you.”

“Yeah, well, I can’t loose you either” Dean snaps back, stopping all the flow of Cas’ words. “Now, just sit back and stop talking” he says, already grabbing Cas’ arm to lead him to the nearest chair. “It’s the spell making you delirious, remember?”

(No it’s not.)

Castiel freezes like a statue where he stands, made strong by his will alone. “I mean it, Dean” he says, his jaw clenched, “You and Sam, and Mary, you need to be alive, _together_ , to keep on saving this world. If I have to die to make sure it stays this way, then I’ll be glad to do so.”

“CAS” Dean snaps, the angel’s name sounding like a threat.

Cas’ eyes get lost into space, as if he was searching something in the depths of his mind. “And if there isn’t a cure, I’ll just have to heal you with the grace I have left and-”

“STOP” Dean says as he grabs Castiel by his shoulders.

 

He’s about to let his anger flow, but at the second his hands touch Castiel, it’s as if all the sounds in the room shut down.

There’s nothing but a wide, plain silence, and the knot in their stomachs becomes suddenly hot and bubbling, rushing through their veins, and the itchy feeling of the alcohol in their bodies disappears.

 

Dean holds his breath and Cas raises confused eyes to him, flickering back to blue for a second, before Sam breaks the moment, arriving next to them.

Dean needs a second to react at his brother calling his name. He turns away and his hands fall back on his sides, and suddenly all the noise and nauseous sensation inside him are back, as strong as before, as if nothing happened.

“What?” Dean asks, unsettled by this brief moment of pure, white peace.

“I said,” Sam began, “Mom and I, we are going with Rowena” he says, turning to the witch who seems to be talking to Mary, while this one stares at her with a wary eye. He turns back to them. “She knows someone that know about this… green fairy, and maybe about a cure.”

Dean nods. “Alright” he says, not knowing what else to say. He’s apparently dying, but not feeling like it, and it’s like he’s outside his own mind, not feeling anything but the swollen wound that is the curse inside his chest.

Sam gives him a small, encouraging smile. “Rowena said that you had to call us when the spell breaks to its phase two.”

“How do I know it’s phase two?” Dean asks, his head starting to feel warm and heavy and fuzzy, and very very _soft_.

“You start to feel very cold, you search for warmth-” Sam’s eyes travel from Dean to Cas, and back to Dean, “Body warmth, I mean.”

Dean blinks several times in silence. Then, “OK, anything else?”

Castiel gives him a surprised look behind his shoulder, as if he was sure Dean was about to protest the undesirable side effects of the spell.

 

Sam sighs and suddenly he realizes what he’s about to do. He’s going to leave, God knows where with Rowena who would probably care more for a moth’s death, maybe for hours to find a cure that may not exist.

A terrible, glacial vision appears in his mind, a vision of what’s going to happen if he arrives too late and…

(This is what happens when you take Death for a fool.)

He always took their survival for granted, but now he realizes how many times they have been close to the edge, and now he realizes one day will come where he will not be able to save Dean. Or any other person he ever cared about.

(Though today is not the day where he’ll stop fighting mercilessly against the Reapers.)

 

“No, but please, just call me when you start to feel bad, alright?” he says.

Dean nods, and Sam can already see the fever settling down in his eyes, bright and blurry at the same time, a flame through a glass full of dark liquor.

“I will” he says, and he gives Cas a quick, worried look before turning back to his brother, “I trust you on this, OK?” he whispers in a nearly desperate way, and Sam _knows_ Dean doesn’t worry about himself.

Sam nods, and he wants to reach out to Dean and pull him into a hug, and then do the same with Castiel, but that would feel like a goodbye, and he refuses to believe it’s one.

He squeezes Dean’s shoulder and nods at Castiel instead.

“Good thing is, the phase one still haven’t begun, right? That means we got more time to find the cure” Sam says, a hopeful smile on his lips.

Dean nods. “Yeah, exactly.” He points at Rowena and Mary behind his brother. “Now, go!” he exclaims, falsely impatient.

Sam smiles once again before he turns around, and joins the two women.

 

Dean waits several seconds after the door has been shut before he slowly turns to Castiel, his calm facade fading away.

“Hey, you think seeing Sam twice is delirious?” he asks, still trying to keep worry at bay.

Castiel’s lips curve into a half sad, half amused smile, and Dean lets out the heavy sigh he’s been holding in his lungs.

“Well,” he says, “guess it’s just a matter of time now.”

 

(The world is already turning upside down around him.)

x

 

Dean groans. “I feel like my head is going to freaking explode” he says, and all his skull feels like it’s full of water, heavy and trembling behind his bones.

“Me, too” Castiel answers next to him, his eyes shut tight under the unpleasant sensation. He can almost hear the liquor lapping in his ears.

“Hey, can you stand there,” Dean says pointing at a spot a few feet away “and tell me if I can walk a straight line?”

Castiel gives him a questioning look but still walks to where Dean showed him. When he turns back, he meets the hunter’s frowning gaze.

“There are two of you” he says, squinting at Castiel. His eyes seem to clear a moment after. “Ah, nevermind.” He’s about to make a step when he freezes and glares at Castiel. “How I’m supposed to walk if you’re that close?”

“Dean, I’m several feet away from you” Castiel says with an exasperated sigh.

Dean narrows his eyes again. “Right” he says, still giving the angel an unsure look.

He then makes a few steps like he would normally do, even though he’s now conscious he probably looks like an idiot doing it. He finally arrives to Castiel.

He has a triumphant smile. “See? I’m good!” he exclaims, raising his eyes to Castiel, who is at his level.

 

But several feet away.

In fact Dean did walk to the opposite wall of the room.

 

He turns to the angel with an incredulous expression.

“That was not a straight line” Castiel calmly comments.

Dean rolls his eyes. “No, really?” he says, before he passes a hand on his face. Why couldn’t it be some kind of dark, somehow majestic spell, instead of that silly game that is twisting his nerves around. He sighs and walks to Castiel, where he truly stands.

The angel covers him with a worried look. “What do we do?” he asks in a gentle, low voice.

“I don’t know” Dean answers, his eyes crossing Castiel’s bright green ones. “We could help Sam and search a cure ourselves?” he suggests, his mind functioning to the speed of an old, dusty car.

Castiel nods. Dean tells him to follow him to his room so they can get his laptop.

 

(It takes them longer than expected, as the bunker’s walls keep changing their places like a damn labyrinth. They end up gripping each other’s arms, one guiding the other when they can’t see the world right anymore.)

 

x

 

“The ceiling is spinning” Castiel says as if it was the most normal thing in the Universe.

“What color?” Dean asks, giving the roof the same curious look.

“Green.”

“Yeah, talk about a surprise.”

 

They have tried to make some research on Dean’s laptop but gave up not later than ten minutes after, when the screen started to swirl in front of them. They are now laying on Dean’s bed, their backs flat against the soft mattress.

(Dean never heard Cas’ breathing so close to him.)

 

Suddenly the angel gets up, and Dean gives him a confused, blurry look.

“What are you doing?” he asks, suddenly scared Cas is going to leave him here. The spell isn’t affecting him the same way, he’s not as weak as him. Grace stuff, Dean supposes.

“Nothing” Cas says, before he takes of his coat and suit jacket.

Dean feels his stomach dropping in the dark. “Well, I may be _delirious_ but I can totally see you’re doing something.”

“I’m just hot” Cas says, and he feels tired and heavy and as far from angelic as one can possibly be.

Dean scoffs. “Yeah, that’s what the ladies say” he says, his eyes tracking Cas’ hands as he takes off his tie.

“That’s what _you_ say.”

Dean nearly chokes. “What?” he says, his voice a bit higher than usual. The heat rises to his cheeks, and suddenly he thinks of his sentence, and maybe he thought something out loud? Well, no, impossible, that would mean he thought that, and he doesn’t. At all.

(A bead of sweat rolls on his spine.)

 

But Cas just gives him a confused, exhausted look. “I didn’t say anything, Dean” he says, before laying back next to him.

“Oh. Alright.” Dean answers with the smallest sigh of relief.

There are a few moments where the room is completely silent, to the point his eyelids are starting to flutter, heavy of sleep. Then Cas rolls on his side and starts staring at Dean. Intensely.

The hunter freezes and turns his head, ending up just two breaths away from Cas’ wide eyes. He tries to stay still, focusing on the electric threads in them. He will start counting then, that’s what he’ll do, and not caring about the face so close to him he can almost hear his heart in his ears.

“What are you doing?” he asks, his words tiny and a little bit shaking.

“Don’t move” Cas answers.

Dean frowns, unsteady. “Yeah, well I can’t” he says, a shiver sparkling in his blood, “You’re staring.”

 

Suddenly, Cas sits by his side, the bed moving underneath Dean. The angel raises a hand and before Dean can even think, his palm is pressed against his chest, just where his heart is beating under all the blood and flesh, fingers spread wide on the soft fabric of his t-shirt.

Dean freezes completely and his head turns back to Castiel, a question shaping on his lips. All his body feels heavy and hot and he feels like shaking. His heart is racing behind his ribs and he realizes with horror Castiel must feel its pulse under his fingertips.

Dean tries to clear his throat to speak but Castiel cuts him off. “Your soul” he murmurs very softly. “I can see it again”

Dean blinks several times, lost at sea. “What?” he whispers back, and each of Cas’ fingers seem to be diving in his skin, hot and hungry, while his touch remains very light and gentle.

(The walls are bright purple around him. Hundreds of whispers are filling his ears.)

Castiel closes his eyes and a second after, a thin smile spreads on his lips, one like Dean never saw. Full of a pure, white bliss. As if all the weight of the world has finally been taken off his shoulders.

Dean raises the upper part of his body on his elbows. “Are you delirious?” he asks, lost in the contemplation of Cas’ relaxed features, all black eyelashes fluttering as if watching a dream unravel.

“I don’t know” Cas answers and his voice seems to resonate in the whole room. “I hope not.”

“Why?” Dean says, keeping himself from moving and breaking the moment.

Cas’ voice becomes even deeper, like a whisper in the breeze. “It’s even more beautiful than what I remembered.”

 

Dean’s breath gets stuck in his lungs and his mouth goes dry, his mind blank. He’s pretty sure his heart has just stopped under Cas’ palm. He thinks of how he would have reacted if it was a day like another, a normal day, as normal as something could be in the Winchesters’ life.

He would probably have had a nervous laugh, and found a way out of a situation that felt too strange and intimate. Probably by pushing Cas away, and now that he realizes, by hurting him at the same time.

He would have been rough, cold and incredibly stupid.

 

But now, the spell makes everything easier. He’s too tired to pretend, to fight against anything. He just holds his breath and lets time flow as slowly as it desires.

Even braver than that, he sits right on his bed, and raises his own hand to put it flat against Cas’ chest, soon feeling the steady pulse of his heart underneath.

 

The curse seems to suddenly get stronger and brighter. It swells inside of him and bursts like a firework, growling like a beast in his belly. The whole room flashes the same green as the absinthe, crossed by moving threads of the same color, only darker or lighter, as if the sun was piercing through the ceiling. It’s like watching the bottom of a pool, only it’s made of vivid alcohol, and not soothing water.

He stares at his hand on Cas’ chest, mesmerized by the colors flowing from it, as if it was the epicenter of some beautiful wave of magic. But a move at the corner of his eye makes him raise his head and he barely holds back a gasp of astonishment.

 

Just like Cas seems to see his soul, the angel’s true form – he supposes it is – appears bright and clear to him.

His lungs feel tight as he watches three pairs of wings unfurl behind him, as well with threads and hands of light trying to grasp the ceiling to rip it open. There’s even some sort of crown made of metallic thorns floating around his head, roses blooming and spurting breaths of grace around them, falling back to the ground into a soft drizzle.

His head aches at the very sight of it, because no matter how many incredible things he saw in his hunter life, never did he see such thing. It’s like all divinity rained down from the skies to his little room with guns and rumpled papers and beer bottles.

(The spell makes it all blurry and so very green, but incredibly _real_.)

Cas opens his eyes, and they’re bottomless pits of light. Seeing Dean’s awed expression, he has another thin smile, so human and so far away from the vision bursting around him.

 

Dean doesn’t know for how long they stay like this, palms feeling each other’s hearts. He feels so small and bare as Castiel sees the most vulnerable part of him, but in some way the angel is doing the same.

Dean dares to think Castiel chose to show him his true form, and so the very essence of what he is, beyond what he, a human, sees: a body.

And Dean realizes, he’s so much more than that, than muscles and nerves, and he aches not to have understood that before. His blood ignites when he realizes the way he treated him sometimes, when he was angry or tired or just so overwhelmed by the feelings he kept burying inside of him.

Under these eyes as bright as the moon when it’s full, he doesn’t know why Castiel doesn’t snap him out of existence, for all the times he’s been mocked and abandoned and _broken_ by him.

(He just wonders, _why_?)

 

But right now, he likes to pretend he’s safe, and that nothing bad can happen, just as long as he stays under that golden touch.

 

x

 

“Are you sure it’s the right place?” Sam asks, glancing at Rowena, doubtful.

She gives him an exasperated look. “Yes, my tracking spell showed that precise house.”

“But how can you be so sure she’s going to welcome you with open arms?” Sam insists, “I mean, it’s not like you have a lot of….”

“Friends?” Rowena suggests before she has a little, bitter laugh. “Don’t worry about that.”

Sam gives her an uncertain look but doesn’t say anything more. They already have been driving for several hours, and time is running out for Dean and Cas. His mind flies to them and he hopes they’re alright, or at least not in too much pain.

Rowena knocks on the massive wooden door facing them. A few moments after, it’s opened and behind the witch’s bright hair, Sam can get a glimpse of a tall woman in the door frame.

 

He also gets a glimpse of her eyes opening wide and there’s a loud “No!” before the door slams on Rowena.

 

This one blinks several times, clearly surprised. Sam gives her a mocking look. “Still one hundred percent sure?”

She glares at him. “Do I need to remind you I’m doing this for you and your dear brother?” She has a dramatic gesture of her hand. “If I didn’t have so much pity for the Winchesters, I would let them die. But well, I’ve always been known for my generosity.”

Sam stares at her, speechless and incredulous. Rowena ignores him and knocks on the door again.

“Camille! Please open, it’s a matter of life or death!”

 

Behind her, Mary joins Sam. “Are you sure we can trust her?” she asks, giving Rowena a dark, hateful look that almost makes Sam shudder.

“I don’t think we have a choice” he answers, a ball of worry in his throat.

“Still,” Mary continues, “it’s not _right_.”

Sam frowns and turns to her. “What do you mean?”

Mary keeps staring at the witch who seems to be talking to the woman Sam saw before, the two of them separated by the heavy door.

“You know, working with people like her…” She gives Sam an insisting look. “Monsters?”

Now, he shivers. “Mom, I know Rowena is not the best person you’ve met, but she’s helping us save Dean and Cas.” He tilts his head, frowning. “Isn’t that enough to accept her for a couple of hours?”

Mary pouts of disagreement. “She’s not doing it for Dean, she’s doing it for her.” She shakes her head, “It’s in her nature to lie and betray, Sam.”

“I know,” Sam says. “But she doesn’t deserve to die either.”

Mary doesn’t answer, and her silence only sends more shivers down Sam’s spine. He’s about to say something else, but the door suddenly opens.

 

In the frame of it, a woman with skin so dark it appears deep blue in the shadow stares at them. Or rather stares at Rowena. The two of them seems to be about the same age, though she seems to live in her time, while Rowena still looks like the queen of a lost kingdom, both in the clothes she dresses and the way she looks around, proud and contemptuous.

“It’s been a while, Rowena” the woman says, her foreign accent both sharp and smooth on each words.

“I know,” the red headed witch answers, “but I wouldn’t contact you if it was very important.”

The woman leans to take a look behind her, judging Sam and Mary from head to toes. “Who are they?”

“Friends” Rowena answers, causing a surprised look from Sam and a small twitch in Mary’s jaw. “Listen, I need your help.”

The woman sighs. “What do you want?”

“It’s about his brother and his friend.” Rowena answers, pointing at Sam with her sharp fingernail.

Sam takes a short breath, before he walks to Rowena to stand next to her. “They’ve been cursed.”

The woman raises an eyebrow and shoots Rowena a mocking look. “Nothing you could handle yourself?”

Rowena gives her a smile. “Not this time” she says, “Do you remember the spell you told me about in Paris? The one with the woman who killed herself when her lover-”

“ _La Fée Verte_ ” the woman says in a breath, and something dark shines in her eyes that already are the color of charcoal.

“Yes” Rowena answers.

The woman looks at Sam. “Your friends, they have been cursed by her?” she asks, her voice strangled.

Sam gives her a worried look, now terrified by the way her eyes are filled with pity. “Yes, they were in the bar where she worked in the past and they drank… absinthe?”

The woman has a long, heavy sigh. “Yes.” She opens the door wide and makes a few steps back. “My name’s Camille. Please, come in.”

 

Sam is surprised but enters the small house nonetheless, too curious – and desperate – to be wary.

 

As Camille leads them to the living room, Sam notices the way she glances briefly at Rowena, several times, with such melancholy he can’t help but wonder. “If I can ask,” he says “how do you know each other?”

With a move of her hand that shakes the rings of gold around her wrist, she invites them to sit. Sam takes place next to Mary on a bright blue couch, while Rowena and Camille sits in front of them on separate armchairs.

She glances at Rowena once again. “We’ve been together” she simply says.

Sam raises his eyebrows despite himself. “Together as in…?”

“Yes, _together_ as in a couple. It was a few years back.” Rowena answers, her eyes diving into Sam’s with such a force he regrets his surprise. “What, Samuel, did you really think you knew everything about me?”

“I didn’t say that” Sam answers with a scowl.

“That is not the reason of your visit, is it?” Camille says, exasperated. She turns to Sam and seems to notice Mary’s presence. She gives her a warm smile. “Oh, sorry, you must be his sister?”

“Mother, actually.” Mary answers a bit too coldly to Sam’s taste.

 

“Oh.” Camille answers, visibly confused. “Right” she says, shaking her head to focus back on the curse. “Well, it’s one of the worst spell I know.”

“Why?” Sam asks, frowning.

Her black eyes raise to him, suddenly incredibly sorrowful. “Because it’s impossible to undo.”

Sam’s heart freezes. “What?” he blurts, his voice weak and desperate.

Camille gives him a gentle, compassionate smile. “Just let me tell you its story, alright?”

Sam nods. “OK” he says as he sinks his back into the soft velvet of the couch.

 

Camille takes a deep breath and begins.

“I heard about it from one of my aunts, that knew Joséphine Delange. Her and her father were living in France before they came to America. Her mother had died when she was very young, but it was known that her parents were deeply in love. When she found Frank, her lover, she immediately fell for him and as he seemed to feel the same way, she thought they’d follow her parents’ way and be happy for the rest of their lives. But as Rowena may have told you, it didn’t exactly go this way” she says, giving a look to the witch who nods, inviting her to continue. She takes another breath, “When she discovered he was cheating on her, it broke her. My aunt, who lived in the same village at the time, told me she saw her running through town, in tears. She was very upset.”

“I can understand” Sam gently says, “But what turned her into whatever she is now?”

“This is where it becomes strange” Camille says, her eyes dark and unfathomable, “As you know, violent deaths turn people into ghosts. But her grief was so great that when she died, she became _something_ else. Some kind of very powerful spirit, just like a witch, but capable of cursing people even in death. She can cast a spell on anyone who drinks absinthe – her father’s specialty at their bar.”

“Alright,” Mary says and Sam is startled at the sound of her voice. She gives him a questioning look but doesn’t comment, “But why is she doing it?” She shakes her head, “She didn’t sound like a bad person.”

“She was not” Camille confirms, “But as I said, her pain was terrible, and it _changed_ her. She was completely devoted to her lover, but he did not care for her in return.” She sips in a breath, playing with her rings, shining on her dark fingers. “She doesn’t really choose her victims. She just picks someone who’s romantically involved with a person, one way or another, and she curses them. If their love for that person is strong enough, they can be cured. But if she judges it’s not enough, then they die.” She raises her eyes to stare at Sam. “Her spell, it’s a test. She judges the purity of one’s love.”

 

Sam shakes his head, confused. “But that doesn’t make any sense. Dean and Cas are not in love with anyone.”

“What if it’s with someone you don’t know?” Camille softly asks.

“I don’t think-” Sam begins but Mary cuts him off.

“So, how do you cure it?” she asks directly.

“There’s only one way, and it’s impossible” Camille answers, still as calm as a summer day.

“What is it?” Mary asks her, her jaw clenched. Sam can see the frustration rising in her, threatening to burst violently.

“You have to summon Joséphine, only her can break her spell.”

“Perfect!” Mary exclaims, turning to Sam. “We know how to do that, right? Summon someone?”

Sam doesn’t let himself fall too fast in relief, and he’s right, for a moment after Camille speaks. “It’s not that simple.”

“Why?” Mary asks, frowning again.

“Joséphine can only break the spell if the person she cursed deserves it.” She closes her eyes, visibly about to announce bad news. “That’s why she created the two stages. If they can love and be loved, even in their worst selves, even close to death, then she saves them. Otherwise, she let them die.”

Sam’s heart gets stuck in his throat. “So we just have to find someone who _love_ _s_ them?” He turns to his mother, a brief spark of hope in his eyes, before he turns back to Camille. “Then we can save them. We love Dean and Cas, and they do love us in return!”

Camille shakes her head. “I’m sorry, but it doesn’t work that way” she says and Sam’s joy fades, “It’s about the deepest, most destructive feeling in the world. The feeling you get when you meet someone and you have to fight with everything you have to keep them.” She gives Sam a look of her big, black eyes. “It’s about true love. Joséphine talked about _âmes soeurs._ Soulmates.”

“But it’s impossible...” Mary murmurs.

 

Camille stares at her and a wave of sympathy flows from her. “Exactly.” Her eyes wonder to the window behind them, into the blooming flowers and trees, “This spell is so hard to cure, because true love doesn’t exist.”


	2. Into The Darkness

Dean slowly opens his eyes. Above him, the ceiling is still swirling, made of soft shades of green and blue, and he thinks he even sees shooting stars ripping through it.

Meaning the spell is still here. It’s not a dream, or rather a nightmare.

He sighs and passes a hand in his hair. Now that he thinks of it, he doesn’t remember falling asleep. The last thing he remembers is Cas. His fingers spread over his heart.

He frowns, and rolls on his side.

 

Castiel is still here, curled up next to him, so close his hair starts tickling Dean’s skin when he turns around.

Dean freezes of surprise. Not only did he fell asleep, but he did it right next to Cas. As if he had been doing this since forever, as if it was normal, easy, as if he finally allowed it to himself. Let the walls fall down and give himself some peace while fully trusting the person next to him.

The rare times where he found he had been asleep near Cas, he only woke to the angel staring at him, and that quite unsettled him. That divine presence close to his dreams, inhuman and full of grace.

This thought makes him stiffen as he is staring at Cas’ features and the way his fists are clenched in his sleep, how all his body seems tense and wary, far away from the bliss he saw him fall into not so long ago.

 

And more importantly, he sees he is _shivering_.

As if he was frozen.

 

Dean’s heart has a frightened beat forward and he leans to Cas, gently but firmly putting his hand on his shoulder. “Cas?” he whispers, his voice just a raspy whisper still heavy of sleep.

When the angel doesn’t move, Dean feels the worry rising in his mouth, acid and sharp and he calls his name again, shaking him a little bit more, the despair tightening his lungs.

After long, painful seconds where Dean feels like he’s about to burst, Cas finally opens his eyes and murmurs Dean’s name, and the hunter’s relief soon fades away.

“Dean,” Cas repeats, his body suddenly looking small and weak, “Something’s wrong.”

“What?” Dean asks, dreading the answer more than anything in the world.

Castiel moves on the bed, a bit closer to him, his head just a few inches from Dean’s chest, and the hunter watches him stir with both surprise and fear.

“Cold” Castiel mutters and Dean frowns, not sure to understand. But his confusion doesn’t last long. “I’m cold” Cas says and as if to prove a point, his body is violently shaken by a long, merciless shiver.

 

There are a few seconds where Dean doesn’t move, doesn’t breathe, doesn’t _think_.

“ _You start to be cold”_ Sam had said.

 

It’s the phase two starting, Dean realizes with horror. He shakes his head, refusing to believe it. “No, no” he mutters, grasping Cas’ arm, the fabric of his shirt soft under his palm. “Hey, do your hear me?” he asks, seeing Cas’ head diving a bit more into his chest.

Cas nods against him, before he moves a little and raises his eyes to him, full of sleepiness, and ache.

“I have to call Sam, OK?” he says, sitting on the bed and helping Cas do the same, the angel’s head falling on his shoulder like a dead weight. “My phone’s the library, so I have to go there. But I’m not letting you here alone.”

“I can’t get up” Cas says in a weak voice, and Dean can feel by the way all his body is leaning against him that he’s saying the truth.

“I’m not letting you here alone” he repeats, before he gets up and circles the bed to join Cas on the other side. He helps him getting up, making sure he has a strong hold on his waist before he starts walking out of the room.

After a few minutes where he feels both his and Cas’ strength fading away, they finally arrive. He walks Cas to a spot where the wall is smooth and helps him sitting on the ground.

The angel gives him a miserable look and Dean shudders. “I know” he says and he puts a hand on his shoulder. His eyes open a bit wider. “Wait, don’t move. I’m gonna be right back.”

He rushes to his room despite Cas’ protests and runs back to the library as fast as possible. He kneels next to Cas and wraps one of the blankets he brought around his shivering shoulders, and gets up once again to grab his phone.

He gets back to Cas and slides against the wall to sit next to him, his back flat against the cold wall, easing his fever a little.

As he’s dialing Sam’s number, he glances at Castiel and this ones stares back to him with eyes that shine of pain and tiredness, as well with something akin to regret.

By the way he’s violently shaking under the thick blanket, Dean can see there’s nothing he can do anymore. The slow march leading to Death has begun despite himself.

 

He sighs and suddenly he feels it too.

A shiver covers his arms, and he immediately understands it’s not just a simple chill.

It’s a cold that is nothing natural, but evil and diving deep to the blood, as if a blade of ice had been sharpened against his bones.

 

(The bright colors are gone, there’s nothing left but that dull, threatening green filling all the space around.)

 

x

 

“I’m truly sorry for your brother and your friend” Camille says, gently putting a hand on Sam’s shoulder as she leads them outside.

In the garden, dozens of different kinds of flowers are growing, bright colors thrown into Sam’s eyes as he tries to hold back his despair. “Thank you. I know you probably didn’t want to help Rowena...”

Camille shakes her head. “I was angry at first, I admit it,” she says before lowering her head, “But I still care about her, and if she thinks those Dean and Cas deserve to be saved, then I _had_ to accept.”

“Why?” Sam asks, frowning.

Camille gives him a small, quite sad smile. “She’s not a bad person” she answers, her voice distant and full of melancholy, “She may look cold and… cruel, but I _know_ her. She’s more than that.” She briefly glances at Rowena who is waiting a few steps away before her dark eyes fly back to Sam. “Sometimes, the person you love is not the one everyone expects you to.”

 

Sam nods, his mind heavy and sore. He thanks her again before he walks back to his mother. From afar, he sees Rowena talking with Camille and now he sees it, the pain that is constantly swirling in the woman’s eyes when she looks at the witch, as if the very sight of her was an ache in her heart, making memories resurface when she buried them a long time ago.

He sees Rowena taking Camille’s palm in her hands, pressing it with some kind of surprising despair, and when she turns back, her face is pale like a ghost’s.

 

As all three walk back to the Impala, following a long, dusty road, Sam’s mind is filled with static and noises, as if several broken channels were turned on at the same time. He doesn’t know what to think, what to _do_ , and it angers him.

He knows how to summon and kill a demon, he has met angels, and even God and Death. He knows everything about what’s beyond most of people’s imagination.

And yet, he’s incapable of grasping something as silly as _love_.

How is he supposed to find someone that loves Dean endlessly, and that Dean loves the same way in return, while knowing his brother closed himself to so many emotions, for so many years?

 

“What are we gonna do?” he asks, his voice raspy and broken

“There must be someone” Mary says, her eyes lost in the path leading to the car. She then raises them to Sam, hopeful. “Dean has loved people in the past, right?”

Sam has a small sigh. “Yes, I think so.” He shakes his head. “But Camille talked about _true love_. I don’t think he ever saw anyone that way.”

“Can’t we find an old girlfriend that could break the spell?” Rowena suddenly asks, her interest making Sam give her a surprised look. “What?” she asks, giving him a dark look. “It’s not because you and your brother are complete idiots, that I want to see you die. Besides, I grew fond of our own personal angel.”

Sam rolls his eyes. “Right” he says, before he searches in his memory. “There was Cassie… but it’s been years and I’m not sure they were _in love_. There was Lisa but, she lost all her memories about him...”

“Amara?” Rowena suggests, which costs her the darkest, most disgusted look from Sam. “Sorry” she says, raising her hands in a sign of surrender, “I’m just trying to find a solution.”

Sam sighs again. He turns to Mary. “Any idea, mom-” he begins, before he realizes.

“I don’t know anything about Dean’s past” Mary says with a sorrowful voice, echoing his thoughts, “I can’t save him” she adds, lowering his head again, a sob in her words.

 

They stay silent for a moment, under the bright sun and limpid blue sky, before Rowena speaks again. “What about Castiel?”

Sam lets out a sigh of despair. “Even harder” he says, shaking his head in disbelief, his jaw clenched of frustration, “He hasn’t been close to a lot of people. There was Meg at some point – I mean, I’m not even sure he saw her that way – but she’s dead anyway now.”

“I suppose we’ll have to call them to find a solution” Rowena says, her eyes like two hard, sad stones, “Otherwise, they are doomed.”

 

Sam is about to answer but as if her words triggered fate, his phone starts ringing. When he pulls it out of his pocket, he sees Dean’s name appearing on it and his heart has a small leap. If he’s calling, that means he’s still alive and well enough to do it.

But then he realizes, _he_ asked him to call him.

A ball of thorns and fire in his mouth, he answers and puts him on speaker, already dreading what his brother is going to say.

“Sam?” he hears on the other side, and he’s struck by how weak and trembling Dean’s voice sounds.

“Dean? Are you OK?” he asks, knowing at the second his words cross his lips that he’s not.

 

What he had not expected is that Dean would admit it.

Sam blinks, unsettled. “What?”

“No, I’m not” Dean repeats, his voice just a faint whisper. He suddenly coughs brutally. “Please come back, _now_.”

Sam’s breath gets stuck in his throat. “Did the phase two began?”

“Yeah” Dean blurts, cut by another wave of dry coughs. “Did you find a cure?” he asks, hopeful.

Sam takes a deep breath. He gives a look at Mary and Rowena, whose eyes are terribly dark and already grieving. He closes his own. “Yes.”

Dean has a strangled sigh of relief. “OK. Great. Are you on your way?”

“Yes” Sam answers again, incapable of saying more, of somehow lying to Dean. Make him think he’s got a chance when he’s completely helpless.

 

There’s more coughing on Dean’s side, but this time is not from him, as it sounds a bit more far away.

_Castiel_.

 

Sam swallows hardly when he realizes not only Dean has to bear his own pain, but has to see Cas suffer the same.

“Please, Sam, hurry” Dean says, his voice worried and weak. “Cas’s not well.”

“I promise” Sam answers, his steps suddenly becoming faster, more desperate as if the ground was burning under his feet.

There’s another moment of silence and Sam thinks Dean has hung up or worse, that it’s over, that he can’t talk anymore.

But then, “Sam?”

“Yes?”

There’s a heavy sigh on the other side of the phone, a pure, silent cry of ache. “Save _him._ Please.”

 

Sam’s heart aches. Dean is most certainly terrified of the spell eating his guts in this very moment, and yet all he thinks about is saving Cas. Maybe it’s because he wants to fix what he thinks happened because of him, but Sam starts to think there’s something _else_.

Something pushing Dean to a real fright at the very idea of causing Cas’ death, or worse, survive but lose him.

 

(Inside of Sam, a tiny piece of the puzzle clicks into place, as if Dean’s words just opened a door he never saw was there.)

 

x

 

Dean hangs up and lets his arm fall back to his side, suddenly feeling exhausted, or rather empty. As if all his strength had been eaten away in one hungry mouthful, leaving him heavy and lost.

 

He turns his head to Cas. The angel looks small and fragile – and Dean knows he’s not – under the blanket that he holds tight against him. Despite that weight that should bring him some warmth, he’s shivering violently, as if caught in the middle of a snow storm.

“Hey, you OK?” Dean asks, even if he knows his question is pointless.

Cas shakes his head. “It’s not working” he says in a husky voice, wrapping the blanket a bit closer around him. His eyes are glassy, still trapped under the spell’s wicked, green veil.

Dean sighs deeply. His heart feels like it’s tied to a rock, sinking to the bottom of the ocean. He grabs the other blanket and wraps it around himself, before he sits back next to Cas, shoulder pressed against his.

 

He takes a deep breath. “I’m sorry” he says in a whisper.

Cas turns his head to him. “Dean, you know it’s not your fault.”

The hunter shakes his head, and a sharp pain pierces his temples. “Yes it is” he says. “You told me not to do it, and I knew it was stupid, but I did it anyway.” His vision becomes blurry and he realizes tears are beginning to shape in his eyes, small and almost invisible, but still there.

“Dean.” Cas’ voice is insistent, full of grief. “I don’t blame you, if that’s what you’re worried of.”

“Not it’s not.” Dean says in return. He plays with a thread coming loose of the blanket. “I’m worried that Sam will arrive too late and that you’ll be...” His voice breaks. “If you die, it’ll be because of me.”

“What about you?” Cas asks, his sad eyes fixed strong on Dean.

This one turns to him, confused. “Me?”

“Yes” Cas says, and Dean realizes his voice’s shaking, his breathing heavy and painful. “If there’s no cure, you’ll die too.”

“Yeah, but it was my mistake, so I’d have to accept the consequences.”

Cas frowns and shakes his head of incomprehension. “But you have your family. Isn’t that worth living for?”

Dean clenches his jaw and dives his eyes into his. “I ask you the same question.” Cas seems to hold his breath and he stays silent for a long – too long – moment. Dean’s heart is stuck on his tongue. “You don’t see us as your family?” he says in a breath, too shocked to think anything else but _this_ haunting thought.

“Dean, it’s not that” Cas says, lowering his head to avoid Dean’ eyes.

“Then what is it?” Dean asks, and the glacial feeling in his stomach only gets stronger, pushing him to Cas with an incredible force.

 

Cas is very silent next to him, he opens his mouth and then closes it again, he searches his words, his mind dark and blurry like a foggy winter night.

“You and Sam, you always have been together,” he begins, his voice sorrowful and blue, “And now you have your mother again.” He turns to look at Dean again, shivering. “Your family is whole.”

“But you are part of it!” Dean exclaims, feeling like ice is running up his veins.

Cas gives him a tired, sad smile. “I would like to believe that.”

A sob gets stuck in Dean’s throat. That is too much. He’s already feeling like he’s been skinned alive and emptied of all his blood, and now Castiel is confessing something he never even thought.

(How could he not see that? How couldn’t he see that some evil, heavy shadow was weighing down on Cas with every step he took by their side?)

“Cas, you belong with us, with-”

“This is why I wasn’t here lately” Cas cuts him off, his words a broken whisper.

Dean holds his breath. “What?”

Castiel moves a little next to him, and Dean feels the warmth of his body next to him. He feels it a little better but it’s before Cas speaks. “One of my brother came to me.” He blinks several times, as if to chase tears away. “He told me that if I helped them getting rid of Lucifer’s child, then I’d be welcomed to Heaven again” he says in one go. “I… I agreed” he finally says, nearly murmuring.

It’s an iron ball breaking Dean’s skull and heart. “You were in Heaven?” he asks, before he realizes something else with an icy shiver of horror, “You were going to leave?”

Castiel nods. “If I had not been cursed, then yes. I would have done it.”

 

(There’s a bitter feeling in Dean’s heart. He thinks the spell isn’t such a bad thing in the end. _I have him with me one last time_ , he thinks.)

 

“But… you once said we were a family...” Dean whispers, a giant blue wave crashing inside of him.

“Because I believed it” Cas answers with a sad smile. “ _I_ see you as my family.” His eyes are now veiled with sorrow. “But I’m just your friend, nothing more. I… realized I was no longer needed now that your mother is here to watch over you.”

“You don’t need family for something. You just need them.” Dean answers, tears hiding all the room from him. The spell is probably doing something to his capacity of hiding emotions, but he suspects his heart is truly breaking down.

(It’s like Cas needed to be dying to confess he wasn’t feel like he belonged. He needed to suffer to talk. _To_ _Dean_.)

“You don’t need me at all” Cas murmurs.

“Yes, I do” Dean protests with deep, pure honesty. Never in his life he felt like he was so about to lose the angel.

Said angel turns to him. “It’s kind of you, Dean, but you only say that because you need me to take care of Lucifer’s child.” He has small sigh. “You don’t need _me_. You need my help."

 

That is too much for Dean. He moves to kneel in front of Cas and he grabs his face between his hands, no matter how strong the pain blow in his body, no matter how powerful the feeling flowing from his fingertips is.

(It’s like he is holding a nebula in his palms. Hot, bright and shivering of colors.)

“Listen to me,” he says, his voice hard like a diamond, “I don’t you to help me, or to be there just when I need you to, OK? I have my mom and Sam, but I also have _you_.” Cas’s eyes are wide open, he barely breathes and Dean starts to think he is about to turn into stardust. “You don’t think I miss you when you’re God knows where?”

Cas shakes his head, as much as he can between Dean’s cold hands. “No” he whispers, shivering violently, the spell getting brighter each second in his eyes.

“Well, then you’re wrong” Dean answers, his fingertips getting lost in Cas’ soft hair. “I worry about you because you don’t answer your damn phone, and I miss you because it’s like you’re never here, and one day you’ll just be gone and I won’t know it and-”

 

Dean stops, both because sobs are strangling his voice and because there’s a glacial wind blowing in his chest, freezing his limbs, making his brain numb, his heart heavy, his lungs aching.

Cas gives him a worried look and starts getting closer, examining Dean’s face with dark eyes. The hunter feels like his soul turned into a block of ice, condemned to sink into deep waters, and his fingertips are the only warm thing in his body.

His eyes open a bit wider. “Didn’t Sam say something about body warmth?” he asks.

Cas’s eyes narrow, being the opposite of Dean. “Yes, I think so.”

Dean’s mind is enlightened. He releases Cas’ face to the greatest pain, and his hands become cold again. He sits back against the wall, before he opens one arm to the side. “Come” he says.

Castiel gives a confused look, even more than any other confused look that he’s the master of. “But you-”

“No matter what you were gonna say, it doesn’t matter now” Dean cuts him.

 

Castiel stares at him, uncertain, before he stirs. He moves past Dean’s leg to come sit against him, his side warm against Dean’s chest. For a moment he thinks Dean’s about to realize what he’s doing, and push him away.

But Dean doesn’t do anything of the sort.

 

On the contrary, he wraps his arms around Cas’ shoulders, pulling him as close as two human-shaped beings can be, and hides his face in Cas’ hair, gently moving until both them are comfortable.

(Their bodies match together, as if one in the beginning of everything, but unfortunately separated by the Universe. But even centuries after, it’s still the same. Two parts colliding to become one again.)

 

Cas is a bit stiff at the beginning, a complete stranger to that affectionate, gentle side of Dean. Sure, he hugged him before but this is completely different. There’s something raw and desperate in the way his fingers are grasping the back of Cas’ shirt, how his arms are tied tight like a knot around him as if to protect him from the storm.

And then he melts, too tired to keep hanging on fear. He gets closer to Dean, until he feels the slow movement of his breathing against him, the distraught pulse of his heart under his palm, before he wraps his own arm around Dean’s waist.

Slowly, the heat returns to his body, filling it gently with gold and honey, and he has a small sigh of contentment.

 

Dean’s fingers are tracing patterns on the back of Cas’ head, short strands of dark hair getting caught in his soft grip. The angel has closed his eyes, breathing deep into the fabric of Dean’s t-shirt. His smell unravels in Cas’ mind and behind his veined eyelids he sees torrents of amber, tall pines, blurry blue mountains and wide plains of dark green grass.

Dean feels like he always belonged there, like this is the only right thing to do in this world. He holds Cas so tight he’s afraid he might break in him two, and see the void of the space flow from him, but he can’t help himself, he’s afraid he’s going to burst into dust and he will be left alone with ashes to cry on. What reassures him a little is that Cas is holding onto him the same way, his fingers diving into his back, each fingertip a small, soft wound in his flesh.

 

Then he starts to feel it.

(Or rather he stops to feel.)

 

Slowly, but surely, each of his sensations become duller, weaker. He opens his eyes and sees the bunker around him has turned gray, or rather pale, dusty green. His heartbeats get slower, a steady pulse behind his ribs, so silent it frightens him. His limbs are numb and warm.

He is falling into some kind of awake slumber, a daydream that is more dream than reality, thick and dark like the night.

 

And suddenly, the edges of his vision turn black, as if it was a photography held above a flame. Holes of darkness pierce the room around him and he gasps for air, the fear cold in his lungs, squeezing the life out of him.

“Dean” he hears and Cas moves against his chest, with very slow movements as if he was waking up, or rather, falling into sleep to a threatening rapidity. Like a comet meant to crash, there’s nothing that can change the direction of its furious race.

Dean lowers his eyes to him and see Cas’ ones are freed of the wicked green light, but only to be covered by some milky veil that turns his irises into wide, bright moons.

The angel raises a hand and his fingers brush against Dean’s cheek, tracing their way up to the corner of his eye, catching soft, salty tears on the road. He stares at the hunter with a deep sorrow, trying to remember each features of his face and each rough edges of his soul, everything that makes Dean who he is.

 

Dean feels a cry swelling in his throat and he uses all his energy to keep it inside. It’s full of grief, despair, frustration and one feeling he can’t put a word on, the one that appears when you realize you’re losing the person you devastatingly care about.

He pulls Cas back into a desperate embrace, wraps his arms tight around his shoulders, clenching his fists on Cas’ shirt, and it feels like he’s holding handfuls of grace.

He grits his teeth and he knows being angry won’t change a thing. His body’s tense, his mind’s full of static and screams, his eyes full of poisonous blackness, but it’s not useful in any way.

 

Instead he takes a deep breath and melts against the cool wall, trying to take some last sensations in. He dives his face into Cas’ hair again, and the cold feeling pulling him to the angel shouts of glory. He sighs and as the world is getting slower around him, he puts a hard kiss on the top of Cas’ head, which sends a sharp burn in his stomach.

(The walls seem to get closer, the floor is sinking, but the ceiling is high like a cathedral’s.)

 

And now Dean sees it. How Death is not quite into the violence that precedes it. It lays in the emptiness that is creating itself inside of you as you start to disappear. As you stop being someone, as you stop _being_ at all.

It’s the hollow nest in your chest, the empty cave in your skull, the silent rivers in your veins. It’s all that used to be loud and is now silent, all that used to love and is now cold and broken.

 

This is what the End feels like.

A wide plain of nothingness. A land of voids and holes, a nation painted in gray. It’s all ashes and smoke, nothing else.

 

Cas moves closer to his heart, burying his face against it as if he could open that beating red door and make it his home. Dean closes his eyes and holds on that small amount of celestial warmth that he’s holding in his arms, that tiny speck of stardust that fell right between his hands, just when it was too late to realize what had been given to him.

End is a strange taste on his tongue. Bitter, sharp, remorseful.

 

(But as always when something ends, it’s just black and black closing in until it’s all you can see, breathe, _feel_.)

 

x

 

Sam storms through the bunker’s door, before he runs down the stairs, rushing like a terrified animal.

 

“ _How long?”_ he had asked Rowena as they drove, the Impala fast like a black shooting star.

“ _Maybe a few hours”_ she had answered, and the night had dripped from her words.

 

Now he’s standing in the main room, breathless as the fear tightens his lungs like cruel, divine hands. He looks around, trying to find Dean and Cas, and yet reluctantly stepping forward, afraid of what he might discover.

If Rowena’s right, they should have some time left. But then, Sam remembers with an icy shiver that they have no cure. They are here, but helpless and he realizes that he’ll most certainly see his brother and his friend die, just because of that damn curse and its improbable solution.

 

Rowena is standing by his side, her eyes sweeping the room nervously. She turns to Sam. “Maybe we should split up to find them?” she suggests.

He nods, and turns to Mary when he feels her hand pressing his fingers in a surprisingly affectionate and desperate way. Her eyes are full of worry and grief, so he holds her palm for a few seconds, trying to reassure her when he’s floating in acid dread himself.

Finally, she walks to one corridor as Rowena goes to the opposite one, and Sam is left alone in the large bunker’s room. He makes a few careful steps into it, as if something could blow at his face. He doesn’t hear anything, and that’s what makes him so cold inside.

He walks into the library and his guts are tight like a knot. Where could they possibly have gone? Sam supposes they stayed together as such a burden of a curse must be less difficult to bear when not alone, but he also thinks of how fragile their relationship seemed to be lately.

With Cas being mysteriously absent and Dean worrying to the point of being sick, the conversation was probably hard to make, even with Death watching over them.

 

As lost in his thoughts as he is, he nearly jumps aside when he hears a heavy breath near him. He turns quickly to his right and his eyes finally fall upon what he was looking for.

He doesn’t see Dean, then Cas, or the contrary, but them in one piece, as if they couldn’t be separated.

 

Dean’s arms are wrapped tight around Cas, who is breathing very faintly against his chest, his eyelashes fluttering rapidly. One of the angel’s fists is gripping Dean’s shirt, just over where his heart is. Dean looks even more weakened, his face half hidden in Cas’ short strands of dark hair.

The scene feels surreal. There’s that odd, surprising bond connecting their two bodies, threatening to be ripped apart if laid a hand upon. The spell is still here, noticeable in the air as some kind of nearly invisible veil of a sickly green, pulsing like a ghost’s laugh.

 

Sam holds his breath and rushes to kneel next to them. He shakes Dean’s shoulder, calling his name.

His brother stirs a little and raises his head to him, with a slow and heavy move.

“Sam?” he asks, blinking several times as if his eyes had been shut for too long. He raises them to Sam, or rather to a point near him.

Sam’s heart freezes and sinks into his chest, as Dean furrows his brow and blinks again, looking all around the room with a growing worry, soon turning to distress. He swallows hardly and turns his head back to where he thinks Sam is, his chest moving quickly of fear.

 

Sam on his side observes him with a lump in his throat. Dean’s eyes have turned into a milky, limpid color. He can still discern the iris, as a darker ring among the white, tainted of some sort of greenish ivory. But that doesn’t change anything about the fact it’s two hollow moons staring back at Sam.

 

He swallows with difficulty. “Dean, I’m sorry.”

His brother has a frown, his soapy eyes darkened by it. “I thought you said there was a cure?” he asks, his voice just a thin breeze, far away from his deep, thunderous usual one.

Sam hears Rowena heels clicking on the floor behind him, as well with Mary’s footsteps, quieter and slower.

Sam has a short, strangled sigh. “Let me just get you sitting somewhere else” he says, shooting the two women a look. He then moves to Cas, and a thin ribbon of white seeps through the angel’s half closed eyelids. “Can you stand?” he asks.

Cas stirs against Dean and tries to sit up, his hand still gripping the hunter’s t-shirt. In a few seconds, his skin seems to become paler, his lips turning blue, and his teeth chatter. “I can’t go far” he answers, shooting a desperate look towards Sam’s direction.

This one bites the inside of his cheek not to shout of despair. He passes a hand behind Cas’ back and helps him getting up in a swift move.

Dean’s head snaps to his brother, his dead eyes full of despair. “No” he whispers, and his fingers twitch where they grasped Cas’ back a few seconds before. He looks around, beyond terrified.

Rowena and Mary helps him standing, starting to lead him to the main room. His mother grabs him around the waist to guide him and Sam walks Cas to Rowena, who does the same. She whispers the angel’s name and he turns to her, visibly surprised by the voice he hears.

(Rowena’s eyes seem to be a bit glassy, and Sam can see she’s trying to take all that damp veil back in her skull, in vain.)

 

Then something happens and something clicks into place in Sam’s head, placing the last piece of the puzzle where it belongs.

 

Dean lost all his bearings, he stands blind and shivering, but his hand suddenly reaches out to Cas, as if something called him through an invisible thread between them. His fingers first brush against the angel’s arm, and Cas turns to him, his milky, lunar eyes fixed strong on him.

Both of them quit Rowena and Mary’s hold and suddenly Dean’s arm is passed behind Cas’ back, pulling him close to him. The angel sighs and leans against Dean’s shoulder, and their faces seem to be colored a little again.

 

As Mary leads the two of them with a hand on Dean’s elbow, as he guides Cas himself, Sam is left behind, thrown into great confusion, as well with a great realization.

_(Sometimes, the person you love is not the one everyone expects you to.)_

 

Rowena stands next to him, frowning. “Sam?” she asks with a tiny, broken voice.

“Do you have the spell to summon Joséphine?” he asks in one go, and he can’t keep his eyes off Dean and Cas’ silhouettes, stumbling together behind Mary but still moving like one strange creature.

The witch blinks, unsettled. “Yes, but we have to get-” she begins before her own eyes follow Sam’s stare. Landing on his brother and his friend, she stops, his mouth opening of surprise. “Oh.” She turns to him, eyes wide open. “Do you think-”

“Yes” Sam snaps, torn between the small spark of hope to have found a solution, and the dread to be unsure of if it’ll work, or not. “Can you do it now?”

Rowena nods and her eyes fall back on Dean and Cas, as she pensively tilts her head on one side.

 

Sam takes her by the arm, waking her up from her daydream and walks to where Mary is. The witch darts him a dark look and chases the wrinkles on her blouse with a royal gesture of her hand. She then turns to Dean and Cas, still clinging to each other.

“Alright, could you please stay like this while I do the spell?” she asks them, standing in front of them, her palms already turned to the ceiling.

Dean’s eyes turn to her direction, frowning of confusion. “I thought you didn’t-” he begins.

“Yes, we did” Rowena cuts him off. “Now, stand still.” She stops, before remembering another thing. “Also, I don’t want you to think with your head, but your heart. Is that clear?”

Dean seems lost. “Not really” he says, pulling Cas a little closer as he starts to feel the magic prickling in the room. His fingers are clasped tight on the angel’s shirt, his knuckles against Cas’ waist as this one has his fingers gripping Dean’s back, trying to keep his balance.

(Rowena thinks it’s very clear in their minds.)

 

Mary pulls at Sam’s sleeve. He turns to her, a questioning look in his eyes.

“What are you doing?” she asks, before glancing at Dean and Cas, and Rowena in between.

“Saving them” Sam answers, a speck of hope shining in his ribcage.

“They’re not...” Mary begins, shaking her head at them. “Dean’s not...”

This time, Sam’s voice is sharp like a knife, his eyes hard and black. “Not now” he says before he walks to Rowena, leaving Mary speechless.

 

He gives the witch a look and she nods, raising her hands in the air. Sam feels a heavy weight fall on his stomach. He is not sure of anything. They’re about to summon a powerful, vengeful spirit who suffered quite a lot, and he doesn’t even know what to do if it all goes wrong.

She might as well just snap her fingers and blow them into dust.

But it’s not like he’s got another solution. He just has to try and hope for the best. Even if it means putting all their lives in danger.

He glances one last time at Dean and Cas, both of their milky moonlight stares turned to Rowena and him. The witch gives him a questioning look and Sam nods, gathering all his mind to face the storm about to come.

 

Rowena starts whispering, her eyes shut tight under concentration. Her voice is slowly rising, filling all the room, and suddenly it’s all Sam can hear. The incantation swells and swells until it feels like there’s water moving all around them, blowing behind Sam’s back with every circle it creates around them.

Rowena’s words are mostly incomprehensible even if Sam manages to catch a few Latin and French words. Her voice is strong, thundering in his ears as the room start to glow of an eerie, bright green.

Suddenly, Rowena raises her head, mouth agape, eyes wide open to the ceiling. There’s a small blow of light and suddenly she’s staring back at them through her eyelashes.

 

Two wide wells of swirling, hot light sweep across the room, as if examining their surroundings. They turn to Sam and this one freezes for the second after, it’s not Rowena standing in front of him. _Not anymore_.

 

A tall stranger looks at him instead. The woman is thin, with curly blonde hair flowing over her shoulders to float on her waist. She wears a long dress from another time, but all Sam can see is her haunted look, the light lapping in her irises, sometimes blinding white, sometimes evil bright green.

“What do you want?” the woman asks, and there’s a shiver running up Sam’s spine. The words are ghostly, echoing in all the room with some sort of melancholy. But there’s no anger, no threat in them.

He swallows the bile that rose in his mouth and makes a few steps to her. “This is my brother, Dean and our friend Cas,” he says, gesturing at the two of them who are turned to the sound of the new eerie voice, “and they have been cursed by you.”

The woman – Joséphine, Sam recalls – turns to give a look at them. Her features soften to his greatest surprise. “Yes, I remember” she says in a gentle voice, walking, or rather floating to them in that particularly graceful step some ghosts have.

“We’ve called you to cure them” Sam says, trying to sound as strong and certain as possible, even if all his soul is shivering.

Joséphine briefly looks at him, before she turns back to Dean, her white face close to his. “Do you think he deserves to be saved?” she says in a very delicate voice.

“You tell me.” Sam answers, as fierce on the outside as he’s terrified on the inside.

 

Joséphine gives him what could be an amused look and turns to Dean.

Before either of them can react, she raises a hand and puts each of her long, sharp nails where his heart is, making him wince. Her eyes open even wider, immense lakes of pale fire as she seems to be sounding Dean, scratching the inside of his ribs, feeling the heaviness of his lungs, hearing the rapid pulse of his heart.

The pain only gets stronger, and he feels like he’s been torn apart from the inside, as if some creature was searching for gold through his guts. He wants to collapse, to give up and fall on the cool, smooth floor, but he can only imagine the same pain spreading in Cas’ grace.

With the last bit of strength left in his body, he raises an arm to Cas’ chest and pushes him this way. The angel resists to stay by his side but is soon too tired to keep on doing so, ending up behind Dean who turns back to Joséphine, making sure Castiel stays where he is, a hand gripping his wrist.

The woman’s eyes narrow of confusion and her icy fingers flutter to Dean’s temples. When her fingertips touch his skin, there’s a small electric shock and a thread of light dives under the flesh, rummaging in his brain to find the impossible.

Dean shut his eyes tight, knives of winter diving in his skull. Joséphine opened her mouth in an “oh” of surprise.

 

(Among the bone she saw fascination, and grieving, and despair, and longing, and worry, all in a terrible symphony of fluttering wings and hearts. She saw the hands grasping into nothingness, the words stuck in throats ashamed, and the beautiful, beautiful fire threatening to destroy everything on its way.)

 

She moves back, staring at Dean with incredulous, luminous eyes. “How?” she murmurs, mesmerized by a taste she once felt herself. She then turns to the other man, who forced his way through Dean’s grasp and stands beside him, eyes worry and tired and lost, but aura strong and surrounding Dean with incredible force.

Dean feels the whisper of her body passing near him and he can’t protect Cas anymore, and the woman’s fingernails are already pressed against his chest. Sam makes a worried step to them, as pale greenish lights and smokes blind some parts of the scene to him.

(Among the celestial ribs, she finds the same blue feelings, the same rage and confusion and surrender to silence. But she also finds devotion and brothers as shooting stars, grace bottled in glass, stolen looks and unsaid words trapped behind fear.)

 

She exhales deeply, closing her eyes. Time stands still, silent and dustily beautiful for a moment and there’s not a word shaping on anyone’s mouth.

She then steps back and opens her clear irises again, the light flowing in thick tears on her cheeks. “You’re free” she says, her voice echoing in all their skulls, deep, fresh and relieved, “And so am I.”

There’s a bright flash of green light, as if absinthe had been poured all over the bunker, raining down from the sky. There’s a soft, ethereal sigh rising into the air and suddenly, a strong blow of wind and magic, hauling them all onto the ground.

 

The light gets bright and hot and white for a moment, blinding and terrifying, and suddenly it’s all gone. There’s nothing but the usual, comfortable silence of the bunker and its reassuring walls.

 

Sam groans and slowly gets up from the floor he had fallen on, his spine sore, his breath a little short. He blinks to chase the brightness away and his eyes get used to the soft, warm light again.

Rowena is standing where she was before the apparition, looking around her a bit lost and weak on her feet, before she turns to Sam, a smile of triumph appearing on her lips.

 

Sam would want to return her the same but a move catches his attention. At Rowena’s feet, Dean and Cas stir and sit up on the smooth floor. Castiel’s eyes are shut tight as he takes several deep breaths, a long shiver covering all his body. Dean is rubbing his temples, a grimace on his mouth.

“OK,” he says, “Let’s never do that again.”

 

To both Sam’s greatest surprise and his, there’s a gentle, genuine laugh coming from Cas, something tainted of relief and that one feeling you can’t name, when fear runs away and you can breathe again, and you’re fine, and the person you love is too.

Dean opens his eyes to stare at him, a smile spreading on his face as the angel’s laugh is contagious, and Cas opens his own to stare back at him, and there are no longer wicked veils or hollow moons, but bright green and blue diving into each other.

 

X

 

After that, Dean grows a deeply rooted fear of alcohol.

Not that he doesn’t want to taste it again, but every time someone – even Sam – hands him a glass full of sharp, brutal liquid, his whole body stiffens and all he can see is green, green, green.

The first nights were the worst: he could still feel the bright pain inside of him, the cold gnawing his bones, the darkness creating holes in his vision, and always, Cas’ body shivering against his.

 

There’s also _that_.

 

Because it didn’t just happen to him, it happened to _them_. And neither of them tried to talk about it afterward. It’s a heavy silence floating between them, and every time Dean’s eyes catch Cas’ across the room, all he can think about is how they both came close to dying, but mostly how their bond turned so tight and strong and glowing, one like Dean never felt before.

After that, Dean allowed himself a little more freedom, and he’s not as self-conscious as before. He allows himself to get as close to Cas as he wants to, or laugh with him, or even tell him when he wants him to stay with them on a hunt. It frees a part of his soul, but there’s still that weight, that rock he’s not sure he’s ready to throw in the water.

(More words left unsaid.)

 

It’s the same on Castiel’s side.

He wants to make a step to Dean, more than anything, but every time he’s about to do so, he’s held back by his fear. What if Dean’s gestures towards him were purely created by fear and despair, nothing else? Just the anguish created by the idea of dying alone?

(He can still feel Dean’s fingertips tracing lines and curves in his hair, his mouth hot and desperate against his sore head.)

 

And in between, Sam’s waiting. He sees them with new, wide open eyes. And that is a problem.

He knows something they don’t.

He knows the only way to break that spell was if Joséphine found a love so pure and honest she overcame her deep sorrow about the feeling, and cure them. Meaning it was not just some mere attraction, which Dean and Cas won’t even admit already.

It was something _more_. Something deep, raw and destructive, something that showed in the way Dean was clinging to Cas as this one was shivering feverishly in his arms. Something bright and beautiful yet unconfessed.

So Sam waits, watches them make one step forward, before hastily running back to where they were. It’s eating him away, and he knows it’s none of his business, but as the days pass he realizes all the things he had never noticed before. He sees in their stolen glances full of longing that it’s devouring them from the inside.

But it’s not his job to make them admit their feelings.

Even if Dean keeps questioning him on the cure to the spell. Sam pretends it was just some random incantation, but Dean is smarter than that, he knows he’s hiding something from him, and he grits his teeth every time Sam lies to him.

No, it’s not Sam’s job. He supposes that if it becomes too toxic for the two of them, then he’ll try to make it easier to speak, but for now, he sits back and observes from afar.

 

(He enjoys it quite a lot, to be honest with himself.)

 

Rowena suggested to talk to them herself, but Sam already saw the scene she could make, as clear as he saw his brother stumbling over his words and sarcastically walking his way out of the situation.

Definitely not the best option.

Mary, with a little, uncertain voice, suggested to do it herself but Sam reassured her that it was fine like it was. Truth is, she already had some hard time admitting her son was most certainly in love with his friend, who happened to be an angel at the same time. Sam really didn’t want to see what she could do with that uneasy feeling of her and Dean and Cas’ silence.

 

He just watches them, and hopes that one day, over breakfast, or while driving, or after a battle that left them badly injured, either Dean or Cas will burst and let it all out. Then, he will sigh and allow himself a well-deserved “Finally!”

After some time, he starts to think it’s never going to happen.

 

And then it does, when he least expects it.

 

They just parked the Impala in front of a tiny, yet soft looking motel, after one rough hunt that left them all sore and bruised to the bone. The air is cool and soothing when they get out of the car, a gentle caress on their scrapped skin and sweaty temples.

Sam sees there’s a small dinner in front of the motel and suggests to pick up some food, and enjoy a walk in the fresh evening the same way. Dean groans something about his muscles being too tense to walk, and Cas gently asks if he can stay with him.

Sam is about to protest, but when he sees the two of them sitting on the still-warm hood of the car, so close their shoulders touch, he stops and thinks it might be another occasion for them to talk, even though he doesn’t put too much faith in that.

 

Dean and Cas are now waiting for him, enjoying the calm surrounding them, away from the screams and pain and rage. Only a few cars are passing by, and under the motel’s bright green neon lights, it all feels like a dream, a very peaceful and tender dream.

Cas suddenly raises his head to the skies and mirroring his move, Dean does the same. The stars are incredibly luminous this evening, shining of a cold and raw diamond light in the soft dark night.

(Dean wonders if Cas ever misses being among them, though he’s quite sure Heaven is even more far away than that, even more unreachable for his very human grasp.)

 

A few moments pass before Dean takes a deep breath and dares to speak. “I’ve been thinking about the spell” he says, not too loud in fear of chasing the stars away.

Castiel doesn’t turn his head, just acknowledges his voice as a part of the world around. “So have I” he simply answers.

Dean’s heart flutters with emotion. “Look,” he says getting up from the car to stand in front of Cas who lowers his eyes to look at him, “I don’t know how many times I’m going to say it, but I’m sorry.”

Castiel gives him a small smile. “Dean, it wasn’t your fault.”

“Yes it was.” Dean answers with a frown, his mouth a bitter line.

“It doesn’t matter now” Cas answers, looking back at the stars, his face only illuminated by the green lights that started to flicker, as if their pulse was pressing Dean to say, to do something.

“You almost died” Dean murmurs, and his eyes can’t leave Cas’ blissful expression.

“I know” the angel answers as if it was the most normal thing in the Universe, to die because of a friend. “Besides, there are worse ways to die” he adds, with a very discreet curve of his mouth.

“What?” Dean blurts. “But the spell literally made us went through Hell!”

“Yes, the spell was painful, and upsetting in the way I couldn’t save you from it,” Cas says, “But there was one good thing about it.”

“Really?” Dean asks, truly doubtful.

“I was dying next to you.”

 

That leaves Dean speechless for a while. He’s breathing cold in the night and Cas keeps staring at the starry sea above him, apparently unaware of the shock wave that went through all Dean’s body. The hunter’s mouth opens and closes, and opens again to close once more. He tries to speak, but words don’t come out easy and he keeps staring at Cas in silence, eyes glassy and heart heavy.

He thinks of all the days that passed since that fateful day where he felt Cas’ breathing slowing down against him, of how even in the dark he knew _exactly_ where he stood.

 

He clenches his jaw and all the strength in his blood ignites. He makes a step to Cas, shivering of all his limbs.

“You know, I’ve thought a lot about dying, and where I was going to end after that. Even if I know I probably won’t go to Heaven, I know what I want it to be.” Castiel is staring back at him, focused on every word he says. There’s a cold feeling shaking in Dean’s belly. “Well, I’ve got different ideas. Sometimes I wish it was just me and my Baby and a road that never stops, and sometimes I wish it was some nice house and a lake and all the apple pie stuff but-” He stops, a breath painful behind his ribs, his heart like stuck between two of them. He’s more unsure than ever, but a spark of despair makes him end his thought. He closes his eyes. “No matter what, you’re sharing it with me. Every single time.”

Cas has a little, soft laugh as if Dean made a good joke. “Dean, you know only soulmates share their Hea-” he begins, and then silence.

“I know what I said” Dean answers, daring to open his eyes again, only to cross Cas’ confused blue ones.

He makes a step to him, cautious enough not to hurt him, wide enough to arrive a ribbon of wind away from him. Cas takes a deep, shaking breath that moves all his body and he blinks several times of astonishment.

(All he can see is Dean’s eyes, green, so very green under the neon lights, and he remembers the way his heart beat against his cheek when he was close to him, bathed in his warmth.)

“Dean” he murmurs, his heart sinking like a stone in his chest.

 

Dean doesn’t let him say more, his hands grab Cas’ face with shaking despair and shutting his eyes tight, he leans in until his lips find Cas’.

The angel has a little gasp of surprise but he soon enough feels his grace melting behind his bones, and one of his hand lands on Dean’s waist, grabbing his jacket in his fist to gently pull him closer.

Dean is pretty sure he’s tasting stardust in that very moment. Hot, sparkly and swirling right into his lungs. There’s the same warmth than during the spell, when he had to hold Cas against him to stop the voracious cold from making their bodies numb, except this time it’s bright and loud and joyful, not aching and grieving.

 

(Behind his eyelids, Cas sees the same tall mountains and scented forests and waterfalls of honey, except this time a part of himself is thrown into that vision, with frozen lakes and limpid blue skies and silver breeze.)

 

Dean’s fingertips are warm in Cas’ hair, as his mouth keeps moving against his, and his body is pressed close to him, seeking for the last bit of celestial light that nestles in his bones and sings through his blood.

 

Cas has a contented sigh against his lips and Dean can’t help but let a smile burst through his face, feeling too wonderfully at home to stop.

(As two broken parts of the same galaxy, they collide against each other and become one again, full of colorful powder and soft blackness, and keeping them together, ther’s one heart stitched with pain, grief and worry, but beating furiously through the dark of that wide, wide space.)

 

x

 

Sam bumps into a woman while getting out of the crowded dinner. He starts apologizing, feeling suddenly very clumsy and extremely tired, but when he raises his eyes he crosses a familiar dark stare.

 

“Camille?” he asks, stunned.

“Sam!” she exclaims. “Looks like life’s made of coincidences after all!”

“Yeah,” Sam says and if he had not all the food and drinks in his arms he would totally take her in his arms, too grateful she helped saving Dean and Cas’ lives. “So, what brings you here?”

She has a small smile, suddenly very shy. “Well, uh… I was actually meeting someone.”

Sam has a gentle laugh. “Really? I’m glad-”

Before he can end his sentence, a familiar singing voice cuts him off. “Camille?”

 

He looks over Camille’s shoulder to discover Rowena, and her staring at him with surprise. She then blinks and walks hastily to them, her mouth twisting into a not very convincing exasperated pout.

“Samuel” she says, greeting Sam with a dark look. “Why are you here?”

“Believe it or not, I also have a life” he says, before he glances between the two women “But now I’ll let you two on your _date_ , OK?” he ads with a knowing smile.

Rowena’s cheeks turn into a bright shade of red and she starts protesting, before she gives up. “Where is your lovesick brother and his angel anyway?” she asks, crossing her arms on her chest.

Sam chuckles. “They’re at the motel over there” he says, gesturing at it with his head.

Camille opens wide eyes. “Wait, are you talking about your brother and his friend? The same ones that have been cursed by Joséphine Delange?” she asks, surprised.

Sam nods. "Yes, the very same.”

Camille frowns. “But it’s impossible, that means Joséphine saw the purest, deepest love in them and-” She gives him a questioning look. “How did you find both of their soulmates?”

“Guess they didn’t need me for that” Sam answers with a grin.

Camille stares at him for a moment before her eyes open a bit wider. “Oh” she says, “So the two of them…?”

Sam can’t help but smile. “Exactly.”

 

She flashes him a bright smile in return, made of pearly teeth and small crinkles around her dark eyes. She claps her hands. “But it’s wonderful!” she says, “Do you think I could meet them, just once?” she asks with an excited grin.

“Yeah, sure” he says, watching Rowena turn to Camille with an incredulous look. “But thing is, they don’t know that’s what made the spell work, and I want to let them work this out themselves so...”

“I won’t say anything, I promise!” she exclaims, before grabbing Rowena’s arm with tenderness. “Come on, just a few minutes, it’ll be nice!” she says, her face pleading to the witch.

Said witch looks unsettled by the eyes speckled with gold staring at her. She seems to think about it but Sam can see she’s already going to accept.

“Alright,” she says, “But don’t let the Winchesters ruin another of my day!”

Camille giggles and follows Sam to the motel. His heart is warm with amusement and joy, and he hopes she’ll give a little more of it to Dean and Cas after that hunt that left them all hurt and hungry and tired.

 

He’s about to step into the motel’s parking lot when a move catches his attention and he stops.

A smile soon spreads on all his lips. “Well, I’m sorry, but I think it’ll have to wait” he says, and Camille and Rowena frowns, before they turn to the source of his smile and see the same thing that he sees.

 

Dean, hands framing Cas’ head and the angel gripping Dean’s back, and them kissing so very gently for a celestial being made of blinding light and a hunter who saw more blood and death than any human could ever have nightmare of.

 

“Finally” Sam and Rowena says in unison. They turn to each other in surprise before they burst of laughing and drag Camille a few feet away, giving them some privacy.

 

(Behind them, Dean and Cas finally move back to get a shaking, still shocked breath, but only to lean their foreheads against the other’s, a smile ravaging both their faces, as the stars keep shining above, cold and imperturbable.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that was dramatic.
> 
> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


End file.
